Growing Pains
by EGB Fan
Summary: Following on from “Gorgeous and Talented”: weeks later and Roland’s youngest sister hasn’t agreed to go out with Oscar… yet. And remember Jo? She and Garrett are getting on nicely. A bit of a soap opera sorry.


_Extreme Ghostbusters: _**Growing Pains**

Roland Jackson parked his blue Mustang by the crumbling kerb and stared up at the ramshackle high-rise apartment block in absolute horror. "Oh my goodness," he murmured quietly. "Tell me this isn't it."

"This is it," his youngest sister Amy smiled apologetically, unbuckling her seatbelt. "She's only been working for a month, remember. This place is actually pretty good quality for what she's paying."

"Was she so desperate to get away from us?" Roland asked dryly, still staring wide-eyed at the rundown old building.

"You know how Tara likes her independence," shrugged Amy. "And you can't really blame her for getting sick of us. You lived at home during college, so she was the first one to move out. She was living with a sister and five brothers then."

Roland turned his head to look at her and said, with a humourless smile, "Yeah. Six of us and you're the only one she's invited down here. What's so special about you anyway?"

"It's a sister thing," Amy explained patiently. "When you leave college and get a new place, you invite your sister or a girlfriend over and have a sort of slumber party. She only didn't invite you boys because she knew you wouldn't want to come. She wants us to paint each other's nails and stuff, and I've agreed to go along with it for some reason."

"That girl has always treated you like a doll," Roland remarked.

"Well you can kinda see why," reasoned Amy. "When she was little she already had a brother, and then Mom gave birth to three more. She must have been glad of the change when I came along. Anyway, I'd better get up there." She opened the car door and reached behind to the back seat for her overnight bag. "Thanks for the lift."

"You didn't think we were going to let you come here on your own, did you?" Roland asked rhetorically.

As she climbed out of the car and slung her backpack onto her shoulder, Amy rolled her dark-brown eyes despairingly. Tara may treat her like a doll, but at least she didn't treat her the way their brothers did: like a cross between a baby and a glass ornament. All except Joey, that is: Amy's only younger sibling. He treated her like his big sister, just as he should, and she absolutely loved him for it.

The elevator smelt very distinctly of the two kinds of body fluid that result from a heavy night of drinking, and the noises it made became increasingly disconcerting the nearer to the top of the building it got. Tara lived on the top floor. Typical, thought Amy, as the elevator doors slid open and she was finally able to step out into the graffiti-covered hallway.

"Hi AJ!" Tara exclaimed delightedly, flinging her arms around her only sister as she answered Amy's knock at the door. "Karen'll be out all night – I made her promise. This is going to be so much fun! Come on in. Dump your stuff anywhere."

Amy crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut behind her and threw her backpack into a discreet corner. She wouldn't be needing it just yet; Tara was sure to keep her up half the night with tales of college and her fantastic new job with Gucci.

"What do you want to drink?" asked Tara, opening the fridge to reveal an impressive array of beers and wines.

"Just a Coke, thanks," Amy smiled politely.

"All right, if you're sure," shrugged Tara, rooting among the colourful glass bottles for a Coca-Cola can. "But if you want a proper drink just ask for one."

"Nah," shrugged Amy. "You know what Roland's like. He'll probably show up tomorrow morning with a breathalyser test or something."

"HANDS OFF!" Oscar Wallance yelled commandingly, marching into his room and whisking his precious electric guitar out of John Spengler's reach just in time. "Jonathan, I swear to you: if you so much as look at this guitar the wrong way, I will remove the E-string and strangle you with it!"

"Why the E-string?" John's twin sister Eden asked interestedly, looking up from her position on the floor by one of the loudspeakers.

"Because it's the thinnest and therefore the sharpest," Oscar replied matter-of-factly. "With any luck it might break the skin. Hey – you'd better not have rewired my hi-fi system."

"I was just looking," Eden said distractedly – distracted because she had her eye on something else now.

"Aw jeez, you two really scare me sometimes," Oscar shuddered in alarm, hastily pushing his guitar on top of his wardrobe and out of the twins' reach. Then he opened a drawer, produced a small plastic packet and threw it to Eden, saying, "Here. If it'll keep your filthy little hands off the rest of my stuff, you can play – excuse me – experiment with these."

"Guitar strings?" Eden asked, beaming delightedly at her new toy.

"Yes," Oscar nodded solemnly. "Just be careful not to break them i.e. don't give them to your brother. And you." He turned to John, who was already casting his eye surreptitiously around the room. "I want you out. I don't like you going through my stuff."

"Why not?" a fourth voice joined in – and they all turned to see Oscar's younger sister Jessica Venkman leaning casually against the doorframe. "What have you got in here? Go ahead, Johnny – take a look around," she addressed the young redheaded boy, with a lopsided grin. "Maybe you'll finally fulfil your quest for a 'porm' mag."

"I don't think so," John frowned thoughtfully, shaking his head. "Your dad's the one with the porm collection."

Jessica's expression darkened. "Don't be disgusting," she scolded, her upper lip curled in revulsion. "FYI, a sixteen-year-old boy's bedroom is the perfect place to – oh, no no! Eden, don't do that!" she cried out anxiously, running over to Eden and grabbing her arm just in time to stop the child from breaking the skin on her palm with a particularly fine guitar string. "Ethics never bothered your dad much either, but even he doesn't use human subjects. Come on – I'll find you an apple or something."

Too bad neither of their fathers was listening. They may have been reminded of an incident that happened well over twenty years ago: "Hey, Egon – what about the time you tried to drill a hole through your head? Remember that?" "That would have worked if you hadn't stopped me."

"Come on." Oscar grabbed John's shoulder and shepherded the child out onto the landing after their respective sisters. "Out."

"Do you have a porm mag?" John enquired politely.

"I'm not telling you," Oscar replied through gritted teeth.

"Of course he does!" Jessica called up the stairs over her shoulder. "And more than one, I'll wager!"

"Hmm..." John murmured thoughtfully, turning his head to look at the door that was rapidly disappearing from view as he descended the staircase.

"I mean it," Oscar said sternly, trying hard not to dig his fingernails painfully into John's shoulder. (Oh – it was tempting, though.) "Stay out of there. Hey – you know what's fun? My sister's DVD player."

"You stay away from my DVD player!" Jessica snapped, turning suddenly on her heel and glaring menacingly at John.

"I think it could use some work," Eden remarked casually, concentrating most of her attention on the contents of the fruit bowl that she had just spotted on a dresser opposite the stairwell. "If only to make your movies a little more interesting. The special effects leave a lot to be desired."

"Most of them were made before nineteen-eighty," Jessica told her defensively, indignant on behalf of her vast DVD collection. "The world hasn't always been so hi-tech, you know. And I won't let you watch one after dinner if you're just going to criticise it."

That was the plan: dinner – and then the four kids would find a movie of mutual interest, pile onto Jessica's bed and watch it on her impressive Sony wide screen. He may be a teenager, but Oscar wasn't the slightest bit put off by the idea of watching a film with two five year olds and his eleven-year-old sister. You don't have to make conversation during a movie, so the company didn't matter – and Oscar knew of only one cinema in existence that bettered Jessica's bedroom: the IMAX in London, which he had once visited during a stay with his biological father and his family.

"You're optimistic, Jess. Of course they'll criticise it," Janine Spengler smiled fondly, appearing in the kitchen doorway. Then she mimicked both of her children's voices: "'This movie's so boring. When's something gonna explode?' 'Is that the most convincing giant ape they could create back then?'"

"Mo-om," John pouted indignantly.

"Can that wait, sweetheart?" Janine addressed her daughter, who was examining with interest the various impressions that Oscar's guitar strings had made in one of the apples from the fruit bowl. "Come on. Dinner's ready."

"Hey Spengs!" Jessica hissed furtively, grabbing Eden's shoulder before the child could follow the small procession into the dining room. "How's that list coming along?"

Saying nothing, Eden slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded A5 sheet. Jessica took the slip of paper, carefully unfolded it and nodded solemnly as she read down the list.

"Good work, Edie," she approved, folding the sheet in half and slipping it into her jeans pocket. "We must have thought of them all now, surely."

"Is this really necessary?" Eden asked warily.

"No, but it'll be fun," Jessica shrugged dismissively. "And I won't sleep properly until I know."

"Isn't it a little unkind?" Eden added tentatively.

"No," Jessica returned breezily. "Oscar doesn't need to find out. And if I know my brother – which I do – this will all be over by the end of the evening. Then I'll have my answer, he won't be any the wiser and everyone's happy. Come on." She gave Eden a nudge towards the dining room. "What are you waiting for, kid? We haven't got all night."

"So," Tara slurred drunkenly. It was nearly nine o'clock, and she was already on her second bottle of wine of the evening. "That's every guy I went out with all through college. Now it's your turn."

"How d'you mean my turn?" Amy asked confusedly, wrinkling her snub nose as she snapped a sour cream and onion flavoured Pringle in half.

"Duh!" Tara exclaimed. "Who's your boyfriend?"

Amy smiled ironically down at her white jeans as she thought what an unglamorous job it was being Tara Jackson's little sister. Substitute the jeans for frayed denim cut-offs, the loose-fitting t-shirt for a body-hugging tank top and the uninteresting ponytail for beaded mini-braids and she still wouldn't look anywhere near as glamorous as her sister always did. By the time Tara was fourteen, she already had the figure of a Greek Goddess, and as a result she had her choice of boyfriends. The younger sister wasn't so lucky, which was probably just as well. Their father hated his older daughter's promiscuity even now, when she was twenty-two years old – and Roland wasn't too happy about it either, come to that.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Amy told her sister calmly.

"WHAT?" exclaimed Tara, her dark-brown eyes widening as she narrowly avoided spilling red wine onto her tight-fitting white t-shirt. "Why the hell not?"

Amy simply shrugged and said, "Imagine what Dad would think."

Tara's eyes went from bush baby wide to rattlesnake narrow as she asked suspiciously, "Is that the only reason?"

"I'm only fourteen," Amy replied, shrugging again. "I know you started young but I'm not really interested in boys yet."

"Ha!" scoffed Tara. "If you can believe that you'll believe anything! Come on, I'm your sister. You can tell me. You HAVE to tell me! Who do you like?"

"Who does everybody like?" Amy returned flippantly. "Oscar Wallance."

"Oh." Tara wrinkled her snub nose disapprovingly. "You could be a little bit more original than that, AJ."

"Sorry," Amy smiled apologetically. "If it's any consolation I used to think the same as you: he's only attractive because he plays the guitar. And sings like an angel," she added, a smile flickering briefly across her face.

"And because he has sexy eyes and a perfect body," Tara added helpfully.

"Tara!" Amy exclaimed, horrified. "He's sixteen!"

"Sorry Dad." Tara rolled her eyes. "Wait a minute. What do you mean 'used to'?"

"I didn't used to like him," Amy told her. "But that was before I discovered that he has the hots for me."

"You're kidding!" Tara exclaimed – and this time she actually did spill her wine, but didn't seem to notice. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

"He asked me out," Amy replied simply.

"You went out with him?" Tara squeaked excitedly. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me? What was it like?"

"I didn't go out with him," Amy told her sister patiently.

"Wait a minute." Tara screwed up her face as though deep in thought. "You just said he asked you out."

"Yeah, he did."

"You can't mean to tell me that you turned him down!"

"I did turn him down," Amy confirmed, in a matter-of-fact sort of tone.

"But WHY?" yelled Tara. "AJ! The guy isn't just gorgeous – he's actually going to be a famous rock star!"

"Maybe," Amy corrected her.

"No, definitely!" Tara was adamant. "His band is GOOD – but more importantly he's HOT! Why the hell did you do a stupid thing like turn him down? Why? WHY?"

"Calm down. I said no because he's two years older than me," Amy explained, her tone gentle and patient. "Remember when you were my age: how Dad reacted to your Gary even before we found out he was doing drugs. And I'm sure he doesn't approve of Oscar. You should see some of the looks the poor guy gets when he's round with Casey's friends."

"What is it with Dad and guys with long hair?" Tara frowned disapprovingly. "AJ – honey – I think you're crazy. You should definitely go out with him. Dad doesn't even have to know."

"Tara!"

"Oh right, I forgot." Tara rolled her eyes again. "You're a good girl. You're Sandy to my Rizzo."

"Well one of us has to behave," retorted Amy. "Otherwise Mom and Dad would think they were doing something horribly wrong, but they're so good to us."

"If Dad was as good as all that, he'd approve of at least one of my boyfriends," argued Tara. "And he wouldn't mind letting you go out with Oscar."

"It's just because he loves us," Amy defended their father. "You know what dads are like. Nobody's good enough for us."

"Dad's a male chauvinist pig," Tara snorted derisively. "Those brothers of ours are allowed to go off and do whatever the hell they want. Dad was dancing round the house when Roland got his doctorate, but he went crazy when I told him I was going away to college. And you don't even try to do anything you don't think he'd like."

"I don't want to do anything I don't think he'd like."

"Except go out with Oscar."

Amy said nothing, but shrugged resignedly.

"Look," Tara went on. "You listen to your big sister, ok? A seriously gorgeous guy wants to go out with you rather than anybody else. A guy like that doesn't stay single for long – and even if you didn't want to do it you ought to."

"Why?" Amy frowned confusedly.

"So you can tell your friends you did," Tara replied simply. "I'm serious, AJ. If you don't do this I will never forgive you."

"Wow." Jessica gazed admiringly at her wide screen TV. "Jane Mansfield was so pretty. Don't you think so, Oscar?"

"She's ok, I suppose," shrugged Oscar. "If you like that sort of thing."

Eden took her cue: "Don't you like that sort of thing?"

"Um... not especially," Oscar replied, his tone cautious. He had been Jessica's brother long enough to know when she was up to something, and by now he was almost sure that she had roped Eden into it as well.

"What is it you don't like about her?" Jessica asked casually. "Not into brunettes?"

Before Oscar had a chance to reply, John threw a disbelieving look over his shoulder at Oscar and began, "Don't you at least like her...?"

"Stop!" Eden interrupted, thumping her brother on the arm. "Oscar doesn't have such a bigoted and primordial view of women. Do you, Oscar," she added emphatically, twisting her head to look at him.

"Certainly not," Oscar answered firmly. "She can't even act, but I don't suppose we're meant to be looking at her face. I mean – what a thing to be famous for!"

Nodding slowly, Eden produced a pencil from her pocket and carefully drew a line on the A5 sheet of paper in front of her.

"Sure?" Jessica hissed, leaning closer to Eden's ear.

"Hold on, I'll check," Eden whispered back. Then to Oscar she said, "Going back to Jessica's previous question: are you particularly put off by the fact that she isn't blond?"

"Um... no," Oscar confessed. "No disrespect to you, sweetheart, but I'm not that into blondes."

Eden nodded officiously, throwing a slightly complacent look at Jessica. Jessica stuck out her tongue in reply, wishing she had some popcorn to throw. (Dana Venkman was not popular with her daughter at that time. Who says you can't eat popcorn straight after dinner?)

"Do you like the girl on your wall?" John asked interestedly, thinking of the huge Avril Lavigne poster that dominated Oscar's bedroom.

"I admire her as a musician, but that's all," Oscar replied simply. "Now can we please just watch this stupid movie? What's supposed to be going on anyway?"

"You're right!" Jessica suddenly announced, picking up the remote control to stop the DVD and then jumping to her feet. "This movie sucks. Let's watch something else. Anybody feel like a romance?"

The twins both groaned audibly, but soon shut up when Jessica shot them a warning glare as she passed them on her way to the DVD player.

"This one" – she pointed randomly to one of her dozens of DVDs – "is all about what happens when friends become lovers. I think you'd like it, Oscar."

"Do you?" Oscar looked surprised. "Why?"

"Mom and I heard you playing your Def Leppard CD yesterday when we were out buying milk," Jessica explained – though she was exaggerating slightly. The song lyrics had only become distinctly audible at the end of their street. "Seems to me that you enjoy romantic clichés."

"Well not that one," Oscar told his sister firmly. "I saw quite enough of that on 'When Harry Met Sally', thank you very much."

"That's a stupid movie," remarked Jessica, sending Eden a surreptitious glance.

"Sure is," agreed Oscar.

"Wouldn't you do it, then?" Eden jumped in.

"Do what?" Oscar frowned confusedly.

"Fall in love with your friend," Eden elaborated.

"I don't know," shrugged Oscar. "I've only got one real friend who's a girl."

"Do you love her?" John took the words right out of his sister's mouth.

"Definitely not." Oscar smiled at the sheer absurdity of the notion.

Eden gave a little nod as she drew another line on her A5 sheet. She was quite unaware of Oscar's eyes narrowing on the back of her head, and she jumped like a startled rabbit when he asked suspiciously, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" Eden squeaked nervously.

"It's ok, honey," Oscar said soothingly, slowly stretching out an arm to grab Eden's list from under her nose. "I'm quite sure that Jess put you up to it – whatever it is. Hey, just what is it?" he asked, staring in bafflement at the list of names he had just snatched from Eden's grasp. They were all girls' names. And not just that: girls of about Oscar's own age that he knew in one way or another – some well, some only as very tenuous acquaintances. Through about half of the names a neat pencil line had been drawn – for example Ella Stephens: one of Oscar's best friends and the bass player in his band Mood Slime; and Kelly Williams: the blond and unmistakably top-heavy girlfriend of Oscar's friend Kevin Rivera.

"Jess, give me some credit," Oscar calmly addressed his sister. "I've seen the way Ella treats her boyfriends, and I would never go after somebody else's girlfriend. Particularly not if he was my friend," he added nobly.

"So they were long-shots," Jessica returned defensively. "The most likely candidates are on the top of the list. It's got to be somebody from school. Other than Ella," she added thoughtfully.

"Give it up, Jess." Oscar screwed up the list, aimed to throw it into Jessica's waste paper basket and then thought better of it. "She's not interested. You might as well do what I did and forget about it," he advised, shoving the offending scrap of paper into his jeans pocket.

"You're reacting remarkably well to your sister's sabotage," Eden remarked. "I thought you'd go mad if you found that list."

"No harm done," shrugged Oscar. "You weren't even close."

"Isn't she on the list?" Eden asked. She looked very disappointed, if only in mourning for her short-lived and unsuccessful detective career.

"I'm not telling you," Oscar returned firmly.

"Ah!" Jessica smiled triumphantly. "That's a yes."

"No it isn't," argued Oscar.

"So she's not on the list?" John cut in confusedly. Confusing those twins was an arduous task indeed, but apparently it could be achieved with a complicated teenage love life.

Oscar sighed despairingly and then said, in tones of forced calm, "Listen, all of you. I. Am. Not. Going. To. Tell. You. Who. She. Is." He took a deep breath. "Jess, you're my sister, and obviously if I thought I stood a chance with this girl I would tell you. But she's not interested – and if you knew who she was, all you'd do is bug me about it and make me wish I'd never told you."

"So what's one more thing on the list?" Jessica asked insolently.

"Why isn't she interested?" Eden ventured quietly, her brow furrowed in thought.

"How should I know?" retorted Oscar, though his tone was distinctly shaky. If that kid wasn't onto him already, she soon would be.

"We all know you're popular with girls at school," Eden went on. "And they seem to enjoy your music as well. I propose," she continued, turning to Jessica, "that Oscar's mystery woman is... uh... 'interested' – but for some reason she feels unable to pursue a relationship with him."

"Excellent point, Spengs," Jessica nodded approvingly. "Kinda like a 'Romeo and Juliet' situation, you mean. Come on, Johnny, help us out here. What reason might there be for this girl not wanting to see Oscar?"

"Maybe she's not a girl," John suggested.

"What – you think it's Danny?" exclaimed Jessica, her eyes widening as it occurred to her for the first time that her brother might just prefer the company of men. "Hold on, though. If it was Danny, that'd be ok. It must be Tim! Or Kevin! Or - "

"Jess!" snapped Oscar. "It's not a guy!"

"What I mean," John explained patiently, "is that it might not be a girl so much as a woman. Maybe she's too old for him."

"John, you're a genius!" declared Jessica. (Oscar rolled his eyes. His little sister did have a knack for stating the obvious.) "It's an older woman! It's Kylie! Tara Jackson! Janine!"

"Hey!" John protested loudly.

"Don't be absurd," Eden added tersely.

"This is just getting silly," Oscar cut in. "Jess, are we going to watch one of your dumb movies, or am I going to leave?"

"Fine, we'll watch a movie." Jessica rolled her eyes as she turned round to face her shelves upon shelves of DVDs. "All right, you two. What might hold your attention for more than five seconds? Ah – of course! Hitchcock! If I let you watch 'The Birds', promise me you won't tell the grown-ups."

"You can't show them that, Jess," Oscar objected, with a frown of disapproval. "They're only five."

Truth be told, though, Oscar was grateful to have sidetracked his sister from their previous line of conversation. On her mention of Tara Jackson, his heart had skipped a beat. That had been too close for comfort – and he had been unnerved by how close John's idea of an older woman had actually been to the truth. Ok, so they were looking at the concept the wrong way round – but one of those weird little whiz kids could almost certainly have figured it out in no time.

"They can handle it." Jessica waved her left hand around dismissively, using her right to feed "The Birds" into the DVD player. "And if anyone objects we can blame Dad. I was four when he first showed me this movie."

While John Spengler was marvelling and Oscar Wallance recoiling at the fascinating horror that was "The Birds", Garrett Miller was enjoying a twelve-ounce steak and discussing dessert possibilities with his girlfriend Joanna Kendall. Just what, Jo asked him emphatically, was the point of a dessert without chocolate? Who actually enjoyed sitting down to a fruit salad – especially when chocolate fudge sundae was on the menu? Garrett was rapidly falling in love with that girl. She was the only other health enthusiast he knew who had no qualms whatsoever about eating copious amounts of chocolate.

"That was just incredible," Jo gushed some hours later, feeling delightfully full as she slowly pushed Garrett's wheelchair towards her own front door. "Why have I never been to that place before?"

"Because you didn't know about it," Garrett reminded her.

"Twenty-three years old and I've only just discovered it," Jo sighed despairingly. "I may never have found it if you hadn't taken me there. Thank God I fell off that cliff."

Garrett and Jo had met some seven months previously, when Jo was in hospital with two broken legs and Garrett had been assigned, in his capacity as a physiotherapist, to get her back on her feet. She had been recovering from severe depression at the time, having convinced herself that she would never walk again. But now Garrett found it hard to imagine her depressed. She was always smiling when he saw her: a habit that had begun weeks into his treatment of her injuries. This positive change in her temperament, topped with the appearance of her shapely curves after she started eating properly again, made it seem as though she had metamorphosed into a completely different person during her six months of recovery. But the woman Garrett knew now, Jo maintained, was the real her. She often said that she hadn't felt anything like her true self during her convalescence.

"There's lights on," she remarked, parking Garrett neatly outside her front door and then jumping energetically around to the front of his chair so as to talk to him face-on. "Somebody must still be up."

"Are they waiting up for you?" Garrett asked warily. This was a fairly new relationship he was embarking on, and the thing that scared him most was how Jo's parents might feel about it.

"Nah." Jo shook her head. "They gave that up two years ago. There's nothing unusual about my mom and dad staying up 'til three on a Saturday night. Nor my brothers, come to that. We all do it sometimes. Anyway, thanks for tonight. I had a really really really good time – and not just because of the chocolate fudge sundae."

She stooped and leaned in to kiss him; Garrett wrapped one arm around her waist and another around the backs of her knees, and sort of rugby-tackled her onto his lap. Jo had to stop kissing him when laughter overcame her and she asked in humoured tones, "What action hero movie have you been watching?"

"Sorry," Garrett smiled apologetically, pushing a loose strand of straight dark-blond hair back from Jo's round, smiling face. "Couldn't resist. When can I see you again?"

"I don't know," shrugged Jo. "I'm working on Monday morning. Go to the gym and I'll meet you after my shift. I get off at one. You can go for a day without seeing me, can't you?" she added smilingly.

"I suppose if I must, I might just about survive," Garrett replied, with an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously though: I'm glad you had a good time. I'll admit I was a little worried that you might get sick of playing second fiddle to that apocalypse I had to deal with. I'm really sorry about that. Thanks for agreeing to go out with me again."

"Stop apologising," scolded Jo. She ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair and dropped a kiss onto his forehead. "I... um... don't really understand, if you wanna know the truth, but I realise it was important. Just as long as something like that isn't gonna happen every week or so..."

"No way," Garrett assured her breezily.

With one arm still holding her waist and securing her on his lap, he raised a hand to the back of Jo's neck and pulled her towards him, not entirely happy that their first kiss of the night had been cut short. However they were quickly interrupted by the sound of running footsteps on the driveway, followed by a youthful voice saying breathlessly and brightly, "Hi Jo! You're back early."

"No," Jo contradicted the owner of the voice, twisting round at the waist to face the newcomer. "You're back late."

Peering around Jo, Garrett saw that she was talking to a boy of about sixteen who was dressed in trackies and a t-shirt. This kid just had to be her brother. He looked remarkably like her, with light-brown eyes set into a round, smiling face that was framed in straight dark-blond hair – albeit that his was a little shorter than Jo's. He was also tall like she was, and looked very much as though he took similar care of his body. Obviously he didn't have a figure that went in and out like Jo did – and frankly that was the only real difference Garrett could see between them. While the sister sported a very distinctly female form, her brother was a prime example of what could happen when a human male got in at least an hour's exercise a day (and up to five hours on Saturdays and Sundays, in this case).

"Am I?" The boy raised his left arm and squinted through the darkness at his sporty digital watch. "Damn it. Batteries must be dead. What time is it?"

"It's three a.m. you doughnut," Jo returned scathingly, jumping up from her position on Garrett's lap to swat her brother playfully on the head.

"It's not, is it?" the boy asked, his eyes widening in surprise. "Jeez, it's amazing how long you'll wait in line for something if you want it bad enough. Hi," he added, a dazzling smile appearing on his face as he extended a hand towards Garrett. "I'm Alex: Jo's brother. You must be Garrett. If not then I'm sorry to tell you that my sister's cheating on you."

"No, you were right the first time," Garrett smiled crookedly, accepting Alex's proffered handshake. "And maybe the second as well, but I kinda hope not."

"Doubt it," Alex opined. "You're all she talks about. We're getting kinda sick of you to be perfectly honest – but I suppose you can't be that bad, as you're the guy who got Jo walking again. And smiling. We were really worried about her for a while there."

"Yeah, so was I," agreed Garrett.

"Mad that we kept missing each other at the hospital," Alex went on chattily. "A couple of times we tried coming in when you would have just finished with her, but you'd always gone by the time we got there. And she was adamant she didn't want anybody there during her physio sessions."

"Well now you know why," Jo cut in, turning to Garrett and giving his shoulder a squeeze. "I wanted this guy all to myself. Better get in there, Alex," she advised. "No point delaying the inevitable. I shouldn't think they'll be too hard on you, though."

"Yeah. And the longer I leave it the worse it'll be," Alex surmised. Then he looked at Garrett and said invitingly, "Come in and meet the family."

"Are you sure?" Garrett asked, his stomach turning somersaults at the very thought. "It's three in the morning."

"Mom and Dad won't mind," Jo told him breezily, making to follow her younger brother as he pushed open the front door. "They're definitely up."

"Come on," goaded Alex, clearing a path in the hallway for Garrett's chair. "You at least have to meet our mom. You'll want to see what Jo's going to turn into."

"Alex! Thank God!" Garrett heard a voice exclaim, just as Jo kicked the front door shut behind them. "Do you know what time it is?"

"My watch died," Alex defended himself to the middle-aged blond woman who had just hurried out into the hall. "And besides, you knew where I was."

"I was having kittens," Alex's mother told him, wrapping her arms around her son and planting a kiss on his temple. "People get murdered waiting in line for tickets, you know. If you didn't even manage to get them just don't tell me, because I don't know what I might do to you."

Garrett knew at once that he liked this woman. He could tell from her actions so far that she had exactly the balance a mother should: she loved her kids like hell without mollycoddling them or trying to control them. And they clearly appreciated it. Alex was smiling now, and Jo often spoke of her mother as she would a friend.

Thunderous footsteps on the landing above them signalled yet another new arrival. Garrett just caught sight of a juvenile figure appearing at the top of the stairwell before he was suddenly leapt upon by an amorous mongrel. The dog – Alsatian in shape, retriever in size and an odd tortoiseshell mix in colour – rested its paws on Garrett's thighs and started to lick his face.

"McEnroe, down!" a totally new voice shouted commandingly, as Alex grabbed hold of the dog's collar and the newcomer started to rush down the stairs.

"It's ok," Garrett called out from behind McEnroe, scratching the dog's ears with one hand and allowing it to lick the other. "I don't mind dogs."

"Yeah, but we shouldn't let him do it," Jo's youngest brother shrugged resignedly, grabbing hold of McEnroe's collar and helping Alex to pull the animal away. "You might not mind, but if he does it to you he'll think he can do it to anyone – and the gas man hates it."

"Scott, right?" asked Garrett, trying not to stare too hard at this younger, skinnier version of Alex.

"Jo can't be that ashamed of us, then," smiled Scott, absently scratching his excitable dog's ears. "Look, I hate to be rude, but I can't stand this any longer." He turned to his brother. "Alex, either tell me you got those tickets or kill me."

Though he couldn't be sure, Garrett thought he could guess what these all-important tickets were for. He had heard from Jo how utterly fanatical her little brothers were about tennis. Apparently the walls of their shared bedroom were lined with posters of Andy Roddick, Andre Agassi and Venus and Serena Williams. And even if Garrett hadn't known that, the name the boys had given to their dog provided a pretty big clue as to their interest in the sport.

"'Course I got 'em," Alex said breezily, producing a white envelope from the pocket of his tracksuit trousers and handing it to his fourteen-year-old brother. "When have I ever let you down?"

"Don't answer that, Scottie," their mother advised, picking her way past her now very excited teenage sons. "Shut up, McEnroe!" she snapped, for the dog had quickly caught on to the sheer exhilaration surrounding the boys and started a fit of hysterical barking. Mrs. Kendall then smiled at Garrett and said, "Sorry about them. They're just excited. I only didn't kill Alex because I know how much this means to him and Scott. Hey!" she called over to her shoulder. "Ally – I wouldn't be so tolerant if you were staying out this late for a girl."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Alex returned, from his rather awkward position of the appreciative headlock his brother had pulled him into. Their way of celebrating, Garrett supposed. "This is Grand Slam tennis, Mom! What's more important than that?"

Yep – Garrett had been quite right. Alex had been out half the night buying tickets to the US Open tennis tournament. It would probably just be a few first-round matches on an outside court, but for fans as dedicated as the Kendall brothers even that was so, so worth it.

"You must think we're a bit strange," their mother deduced: "running around the hallway wrestling each other at three o'clock in the morning. We're not usually quite this bad, I promise you. Sorry – where are my manners? I'm Sarah: Jo's mom."

"Hi," Garrett smiled politely, shaking her hand and marvelling at how like her children this woman looked. He was slightly disappointed, however, when he noticed that her eyes were blue and not brown. So she hadn't cloned herself to get Jo after all.

"I can't thank you enough for everything you did for Jo," Sarah continued, taking her daughter into a one-armed hug and tousling her hair playfully. Jo rolled her eyes and gave a shrug of resignation as her mother wrapped her arms around her shoulders and went on, "I can't tell you how worried we all were. We'd never seen her so unhappy before."

"Well, I'd never had two broken legs before," reasoned Jo. "Come on, Mom – let go of me. Is Dad still up?"

Hope not, thought Garrett, who claimed to be scared of nothing. However his friend Kylie Griffin had already deduced some years ago that he was claustrophobic, which left him with one secret fear: fathers terrified him. And not without justification. He'd been through some pretty harrowing ordeals with girlfriends' fathers in the past. A few years ago a very promising relationship had ended prematurely when a man completely humiliated his daughter by saying to Garrett: "Anyway, you seem a safer bet than that punk I caught her with at the skate park. I'm assuming skating isn't the only thing he can do that you can't, if you get my drift."

"Yeah Joey, Dad's still up."

These words from Sarah sent adrenaline rushing through Garrett's veins – and it wasn't at all the same pleasant sensation he liked to experience on the basketball court. But as it turned out, he needn't have worried.

"Hey. Alexander. A word with you." Robert Kendall got up from the sofa, approached his older son and knocked a fist gently against his forehead. It was a good-natured gesture, the grim look on the man's face not reflected in his light-brown eyes. "As it's the US Open and you two have been saving three years for those stupid tickets, I'll let you off. But don't do it again, ok?"

"Dad," Scott intoned darkly, releasing the grip he had on McEnroe's collar. "Never use the words 'stupid' and 'US Open' in the same sentence again."

"Garrett's here," Alex announced brightly.

"Is he?" Robert looked surprised as Garrett wheeled his way into the room after Sarah and Jo. "Well Joanna, it's about time. She's done nothing but tell us how great you are," he told Garrett. "We were beginning to wonder if we were ever going to be allowed to actually meet you."

"I would have brought him home sooner if I wasn't afraid you'd scare him off," retorted Jo, her gaze falling to the image on the muted television screen. "You're completely mad, all of you. Who else watches old Rolling Stones concerts in the middle of the night?"

How can anyone sleep after watching "The Birds"? Oscar should have gone out with his friends that night. Nobody would have minded. But of course if he had done that, he'd either still be out now or in bed asleep, and he wouldn't have wandered downstairs and accidentally found this Rolling Stones concert on TV.

He poured the last dregs of his Pepsi Max down his throat and then gazed wistfully at Mick Jagger. Oscar just loved to sing his little heart out in youth clubs all over the city, and he would so love to perform to an audience as big and as appreciative as Jagger's. That guy had shocked parents in his day, and yet if he could see one of Mood Slime's performances he would probably be shocked himself – at their lyrics, their style of dress; borderline-indecent gestures and the fact that a girl was playing bass. The twentieth century was such a naïve and innocent time, Oscar reflected nostalgically. To think that the Stones were almost made to change the lyrics of "Let's Spend the Night Together" (to "Let's Spend some Time Together", if you didn't know). Nowadays that seemed laugh-out-loud funny – and Oscar did laugh out loud when he thought of the latest page of original lyrics shown to him by his friend Danny Hart. Nobody would have dreamed of even writing a song that explicit in the nineteen-seventies, never mind singing it to groups of rowdy teenagers.

Oh the irony. Oscar descended into fantasy as Charlie Watts began to drum a new beat and Mick Jagger sang the familiar lyrics to "Brown Sugar". Oscar would never get sick of that song for as long as Amy Jackson continued to dominate his thoughts.

"You took your time," Tara remarked. She was half-heartedly rooting around in one of the kitchen cupboards when Amy wandered in from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, but I just had to clean the bathroom," Amy told her sister apologetically, her voice wafting out from underneath a small white towel as she vigorously rubbed her hair dry. "It was absolutely filthy. How can you even live like that?"

Tara just shrugged and then asked, "What do you want for breakfast? You can have anything from the fridge that hasn't expired."

"Have you even used this thing yet?" Amy asked, tilting her head towards the pristine stove: the only clean appliance in the apartment.

"No," Tara answered simply. "You can tell because the whole building hasn't burnt down."

"I'll cook something," Amy offered. "You go and put some clothes on."

Tara didn't used to wander around the house in only her underwear when she was living with a father and five brothers. This was a new one on Amy.

"What time is Dr. Jackson picking you up?" Tara asked an hour later, when the breakfast had been cooked and eaten.

"Roland, you mean? Not for another hour or so," Amy replied, glancing at the clock on the VCR as she pulled her shoulder-length dark hair into a neat ponytail.

"Good," Tara smiled approvingly. "There's still time."

"Time for what?" asked Amy.

"Time to call Oscar." Tara lifted the cordless phone from its cradle and held it out to her sister. "Come on, quick, before you chicken out."

"Hey!" Jessica called into the sitting room, waving the phone around above her head. "Guess who's calling for you."

"Danny. Tim. Ella. Kevin," Oscar hazarded, as though it hadn't yet occurred to him that there might be an easier way to find out the answer. Then: "Oh, just give me the damn thing!" he snapped irritably, marching over to his sister and snatching the phone from her hand. He then put it to his ear and said politely, "Hello?"

"Hi Oscar," a young female voice replied bashfully. "It's AJ."

"Oh." Oscar was almost too surprised and flustered to speak. "Hi."

"Hi. Listen," Amy began timidly, "I was just calling to say that I do want to go out with you."

"Um... you do?"

"Yeah. But I wasn't just making excuses when I said my dad would hate it," Amy went on. "He really would. And I don't want to fall out with my family over you. So what's going to happen is that I'm going to try and talk to my dad. My sister tells me all I have to do is smile and bat my eyes, so I figure it's worth a shot."

"Good idea," Oscar approved, finding his reputable charm now that he was over his initial shock. "My sister can always make it work on our dad. And besides: who could resist a pretty face like yours?"

"Ugh," groaned Amy. "Don't start that. I'm not pretty."

"I think you are."

"No you don't," Amy giggled shyly.

"Yes I do." As he spoke, Oscar was suddenly reminded of the advice that Garrett Miller had given him... ooh... weeks ago! "And if it worked for Tara it's sure to work for you. You're prettier than she is."

"Really?" Amy sounded ridiculously happy: exactly as though she had just been presented with a particularly cute puppy. "You're not just saying that?"

"No way," Oscar assured her. "If Tara was anywhere near as pretty as you, she wouldn't need to wear all that makeup."

"Charmer," Amy giggled girlishly. "I don't believe it, but thanks anyway. I'll definitely talk to my dad, ok?"

"Ok."

"And I'll maybe get Casey to back me up. He likes you ok, doesn't he?"

"Um... I think so." It occurred to Oscar, however, that Amy's older brother hadn't looked too pleased to discover the two of them flirting shamelessly in the Jacksons' kitchen some weeks ago.

"Ok, great!" enthused Amy. "I'll call you later and let you know how it went. Bye!"

"Um... bye," Oscar returned blandly, quietly marvelling at the revelation that Garrett's advice had been spot on. He had deemed it worth a try, but credited Amy with too much depth of character to believe that favourable comparisons to her glamorous sister would actually win her round.

Spinning on his heel, Oscar's train of thought stopped dead when he saw Jessica scrutinising him from the sitting room doorway. The two just stared at each other for a moment before Jessica said expressionlessly, "Amy Jackson. For some reason the thought never even occurred to me."

"I didn't think it would," retorted her brother. "People don't tend to notice her much. Except me, obviously. Well, now you know. Get on with it, then."

"Get on with what?" Jessica asked confusedly.

"The stupid jokes and adolescent teasing."

"Why would I tease you? So you like a girl. It's perfectly natural."

"Are you serious?" Oscar asked dubiously.

"Of course," Jessica smiled innocently. "But can I ask you a question?"

"If you must."

"Why her? She's not even pretty."

"How shallow do you think I am?" Oscar demanded indignantly. "AJ's a great girl. What more reason do you need?"

"Ok," Jessica shrugged dismissively. "Whatever floats your boat. Gotta tell ya though, bro: I think you're either very brave or very stupid. That girl is fourteen and she has four older brothers – God help her."

"No you're not."

"What do you mean no I'm not?"

"You're not asking Dad if you can go out with Oscar Wallance," Casey Jackson was adamant. "Because I say you can't."

Quite justifiably, Amy's expression darkened. Casey was the youngest of her four older brothers: two years her senior and, admittedly, the family member she was closest to. She had a different kind of relationship with every one of her siblings. She shared a particularly strong bond with Tara, who was her only sister, and with Joey, who was her only younger sibling. But her relationship with Casey was special. They were closest to each other in age (the gap between Casey and his older brother Ryan being longer by a month); they had spent their childhood too young for their older siblings' company and too old to enjoy playing with Joey, who was four years younger than Amy. Casey had always been the one to look out for his little sister while she was growing up – and now it seemed he was taking his role of big brother as seriously as Roland used to do with Tara. But Amy was damned if she was going to let him tell her who she could and couldn't socialise with.

"It's not up to you," she retorted. "It's not even up to Dad. I can go out with whoever the hell I want!"

"Not with that weird hippie you can't!" Casey maintained. "Not that it's his fault, of course. He comes from a broken home, so I suppose that might explain it."

"Explain what?" snapped Amy.

"He's ok if you keep him at arms length," Casey went on, "but if you go out on a date with him you'll probably come back with a tattoo, an eyebrow piercing and a bun in the oven."

"You're crazy!" argued Amy. "How stupid do you think I am? And besides: Oscar's not like that!"

"You've been to Mood Slime gigs, haven't you?" retorted Casey. "Have you seen the company he keeps? And as for the filth they come out with on stage...!"

"Those songs sound like they were written for 'Sesame Street' compared to those rappers you listen to!" Amy yelled angrily.

"Well none of those guys are looking to date my little sister! Ryan!" Casey caught sight of his eighteen-year-old brother moving around out in the hallway. "Come and help me out here!"

"Oh jeez." Amy rolled her eyes as her third oldest brother wandered into the sitting room. "You can gang up on me all you want, guys. You can't intimidate me."

"I'm not trying to intimidate you," Casey explained patronisingly. "I'm just trying to get you to see that going out with a guy like that would be a mistake."

"A guy like what?" Ryan demanded sharply.

"Oscar Wallance," provided Casey.

"You mean that guy in the Goth band?" asked Ryan, his eyes widening in apparent horror. "Oh, AJ, no! You could do so much better!"

"Only two of them are Goths. And you're even less entitled to do this than Casey," Amy told Ryan angrily, her dark-brown eyes narrowing on his face. "At least Case knows Oscar. Have you ever even spoken to him in your life?"

"Not really," Ryan admitted. "But I've seen the freaks he hangs out with. You wanna end up looking like that weird Eco-Goth girl?"

"Ella's look isn't a side-effect of spending time with Oscar," Amy said through gritted teeth, in tones of forced patience. "I don't want to argue with you. Stop telling me who I can't go out with, both of you. It's my decision."

"Dad won't like it," Ryan murmured to Casey.

"Ah-ha," Casey nodded his agreement. "He'll soon knock some sense into her."

"This is Tara's fault," Ryan opined. "I'll bet she put her up to this. Hey." He turned back to face Amy. "Has Tara been putting this crap into your head?"

"What crap – that I shouldn't let myself be dictated to by my brothers?" demanded Amy. "No. That was already in there."

"Hi everyone!" a cheery voice called, as the front door clicked open and shut. "Look who I've found!"

Roland ambled into the room, followed by his nineteen-year-old brother Marcus. Marcus had gone off to college last September, shocked Roland and their parents by coming back at Christmas with dreadlocks and then happily jetted off to Ibiza with his friends in the middle of June.

"Marcus!" Amy exclaimed, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. "We didn't know you were coming back! How was it?"

"Never mind all that." Ryan flapped his hand around dismissively, prompting Marcus to close his mouth as soon as he had opened it. "Help us out here, you guys. Tell AJ that there's no way in the world we're letting her go out with Oscar Wallance."

"Is this a joke?" Marcus asked guardedly.

Ryan and Casey both shook their heads.

"I don't think so, AJ," Marcus said calmly, turning to meet his sister's foreboding expression. "He's not right for you."

"Why?" demanded Amy. "Because he has a ponytail? What if it was dreads?"

"I don't object to the ponytail," Marcus went on reasonably. "In fact I kinda like it. But he's two years older than you. There's a big difference between fourteen and sixteen. Maybe you should wait a while."

"I can't believe you guys!" fumed Amy. "Roland, tell them!"

"Tell them what?" Roland asked blankly.

"Tell them they've got no right to tell me what to do!"

"We're just concerned, Amy," Roland told her reasonably. "Marcus is right. Oscar's a great kid, but he's too old for you."

"Not you as well," groaned Amy. "I thought you'd be on my side! You like Oscar, don't you?"

"Sure, but - "

"But nothing!" snapped Amy. "Tara's lucky she only had one of you to contend with! Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Going out with sixteen-year-old rock-and-rollers won't make you happy," Marcus maintained. "You'd be better off with somebody your own age."

"You're all idiots," Amy told them irritably. "Don't you remember all the stuff that went on with Tara? The only reason she used to sneak out after curfew to meet unsuitable guys was because Mom and Dad and you, Roland, convinced her that she must be missing out on something. And I've got three more of you breathing down my neck! Doesn't it seem likely that I'll go the same way?"

"You won't if you know what's good for you," Casey told her churlishly. "And you'll never have my blessing to go out with that psychopathic hippie."

"You don't have to like it," retorted Amy. "But if any of you tries to tell me what to do one more time, I swear to God I'll climb out of my window in the middle of the night and scour the streets until I find Oscar – and when I've found him you don't want to know what I'll do. Ok?"

Silence. They were probably just stunned. Unlike Tara, Amy saved up her rage for times when it really mattered, which had the desired effect of making people sit up and take notice.

"Good. Right then." Amy slowly regarded all four of her older brothers before her gaze finally came to rest upon Marcus. "So. Marcus. Tell us about Ibiza."

It felt exactly as if there was a dark cloud hanging over the Jackson household that day. And when Roland left after lunch to go to the Firehouse, it seemed to him as though a little piece of that cloud broke away and followed him. He could almost feel the rain falling on him wherever he went, like in a Loony Tunes cartoon, while everyone else enjoyed the afternoon sun.

When Roland entered the Firehouse, a familiar wailing sound filled his ears. He thought back through the babyhoods of all his six brothers and sisters. Had even one of them been as moody as Rose Rivera was now? Possibly Tara, although he couldn't remember her early years all that well. He just remembered being completely baffled by the sudden appearance of a tiny person in his home. It seemed ridiculous now, of course. He still wouldn't be surprised if an eighth baby came along sometime soon.

"Here." Kylie Griffin held out her small grizzling daughter to her boyfriend Eduardo Rivera. "You try. She's not hungry, she's not tired and she doesn't need changing. She's just doing it to annoy me."

"Aw Rosie." Eduardo jigged the baby up and down on his hip in a vain attempt to comfort her. "I know. It's awful, isn't it? Jeez, you're worse than I was. I love you like crazy, Rose, but your sister was so much easier to please."

"Huh," Roland muttered bitterly, sloping past the small family gathering and leaning back against Egon Spengler's vacant desk. "Just you wait 'til they're teenagers. No matter how sweet and nice a little girl starts out, by the time she's fourteen she'll be an absolute nightmare."

"At least your sisters weren't teenagers at the same time," Kylie pointed out, raising her eyes to the floor above where her three-year-old daughter Conchita sat happily watching "What's New Scooby-Doo?" When that girl was sixteen, Rose would be thirteen. It might not be so bad, but it was certainly something to be wary of. "Don't tell me you've got problems with Amy."

Eduardo shook his head. "Not AJ, surely. She's like you: no trouble at all."

"Not anymore," Roland sighed unhappily. "Although in fairness it's not her fault. Turns out she and Oscar have a thing for each other."

Garrett had just been entering the room when Roland said these words, and they prompted him to hang back. He must look slightly strange, hovering yards away from his friends instead of going to join them as he had intended. But this was a sensitive subject. Oscar had already told Garrett about his crush on Amy Jackson. How would Roland react if Garrett let slip that he already knew?

"Oscar and AJ," mused Eduardo. "Wouldn't have picked that one."

"Well, it makes sense when you think about it," Roland surmised. "All Oscar really cares about is music, and AJ loves music. She's a nice girl, he's a nice guy – and he's not bad looking, is he, Kylie?"

"No, Roland, he's not bad looking at all," Kylie replied, with some understatement.

"So what's the problem?" Garrett cut in, remembering that he had recently vowed to help Oscar out with this little quandary. "You like Oscar, don't you?"

"That's what AJ said," Roland smiled dryly. "And yes, of course I do, but I still don't feel happy about it. There's a big difference between sixteen and fourteen," he quoted Marcus's reasoned argument of that morning.

"I'm sure Oscar knows that," Kylie opined. "You said yourself that he's a nice guy, Roland."

"I don't think Oscar's the problem," Eduardo put in. He was still rocking Rose on his hip, and thankfully she seemed to have calmed down a bit. "You just don't want to grow her up. We all got a little emotional when Kevin started dating. And with AJ: you'd be the same if it was anybody else – even somebody her own age, probably."

"I suppose you're right," Roland relented. "I think Marcus feels like that too. But Ryan and Casey really seem to have a problem with Oscar. Particularly Casey."

"I thought they were friends," Garrett frowned in puzzlement.

"They were," Roland confirmed. "They weren't great friends, but they liked each other ok. But Case and AJ are as close as brothers and sisters can be. If he thinks there's any chance Oscar might hurt or corrupt his little sister, the guy's instantly blacklisted."

"But there's nothing wrong with Oscar," argued Garrett. "He's a great kid."

"Yes, but even I'll admit he's not exactly the kind of guy you want dating your little sister," reasoned Roland. "He's older than her; he also plays some pretty iffy music with quite... uh... unusual people. Casey seems to think Oscar'll turn AJ into some kind of Eco-Goth."

"Oscar wouldn't - " began Garrett.

"I know," Roland interrupted sharply. "I've told you: I like Oscar. This is just what Casey thinks. I don't think he approves of Oscar's home life either. You know: one parent living miles away with a whole other family..."

"What's wrong with that?" demanded Kylie, who was herself the product of a broken home. Very broken. Crushed to powder, even.

"Nothing," Roland said reasonably. "But being with my family is a bit like travelling back to the nineteen-fifties. We're so together. I think Casey would rather AJ had the hots for a guy with two parents instead of three; maybe a couple of siblings and an Alsatian dog."

"Oh, I know the perfect guy," Garrett smiled ironically, before he could stop himself.

"Who?" Despite his crusade on the righteousness of Oscar's character, Roland seemed very interested in this new development.

"Scott Kendall," Garrett replied. "Jo's kid brother. I met her whole family last night. She's got two little brothers; they're both really sort of clean-cut and they play tennis. Scott's the same age as AJ. His parents are still together, they all really seem to like each other and they've even got a dog."

"Is it an Alsatian?" Eduardo asked dryly.

"Not entirely, no," Garrett admitted. "There's definitely some Alsatian in there – but don't get me started on that. It'd be quicker to list the kinds of dog that didn't have a part in making that thing."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Daddy!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"He's too old for you, Amy."

"He only wants to take me to the movies," Amy pleaded reasonably with her father. "You let me go with Casey to one of Oscar's gigs. How is this any different?"

"Would Casey be going with you?" Phil Jackson asked patronisingly.

"Um... no," Amy mumbled sheepishly.

"Well," her father returned pointedly, as though that said it all.

"Well what?" demanded Amy, who was slowly but surely losing her temper. "It's only Oscar! You know him! And I'm asking your permission because I know he's safe to go out with! That's why I'm not sneaking out of my window like Tara used to do!"

"Don't yell at me," Phil said sternly.

"You can't keep telling me what to do all the time!" bellowed Amy. "I can't blame Tara for all the crazy stunts she used to pull! If I was one of the boys you wouldn't even expect me to ask your permission to go out on a date, but you never let me do anything because I'm a girl! Tara was right: you are a male chauvinist pig!"

"Ah." Phil's tone of voice calmed and he nodded his understanding. "So Tara put all this garbage in your head."

"It's not garbage!" yelled Amy. "And I can think for myself, you know! Not everything's Tara's fault! This time it's me! I'm not as weak as you all think I am! I'm quite capable of sticking up for myself without her help, thank you very much!"

"Don't yell at me," Phil said again. "Just calm down, Amy. I'm not going to change my mind so there's no point getting yourself worked up over it."

"It's a bit late for that, you fcking moron."

Jo cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted emphatically, "Come on, Alex – you serve like a girl!"

"Don't be so damn sexist!" Alex called from the far end of the indoor tennis court.

"You're such a slave driver," Scott criticised his sister, turning round and walking the six paces towards her. "All the top tennis players serve a double fault occasionally. What are you even doing here anyway? We never asked you to come along."

"You need me," Jo told him complacently. "You want to win this thing, don't you?"

The way Jo talked about it, you'd think her brothers were competing in the junior tournament at the US Open. They weren't. It was just a friendly, very unofficial two-round doubles tournament between the Kendall brothers and six friends. Two matches were arranged for the following Wednesday; the two winning pairs would then play each other and the final victors were awarded a Big Mac on their friends.

"It's just a bit of fun," reasoned Scott. "Winning isn't so important."

Jo gave the side of Scott's head a small, painless slap as she said sternly, "You'll never win with that attitude. Go on – get back there. Let's see what you can do."

"Oh God." Amy was sitting at the kitchen table in the Firehouse, her face buried in her arms and her ponytail spread untidily over the top of her head. "I'm an idiot. I've blown any chance I had of ever talking him round."

"What did you do?" asked Roland.

"I swore at Dad."

"Oh AJ, you didn't!"

"Oh yes I did," Amy's voice wafted dejectedly out from behind her arms.

"Why?"

"I just finally got sick of it, I suppose," shrugged Amy, raising her head at last. "Dad babies me even more than he does Joey. And so do you, come to that – and Marcus and Ryan and Casey. It's worse for me than it was for Tara because I'm younger than most of the rest of you. I don't know what to do, Roland," she confided. "It's not just about Oscar anymore. I'm fourteen. I'm still a kid but I'm old enough to make some decisions on my own. I feel like I want to stand up to Dad, but I remember how it was with Tara and I just wonder if it's worth it. She and Dad couldn't stand each other for a while there – and the rows she used to have with Mom..."

"You're far more sensible than Tara," Roland began soothingly. "We really used to worry about the trouble she might get herself into. Personally I still do, but there's not much I can do about it now. But you'd behave yourself, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would," Amy nodded vigorously. "Knowing Oscar he'd probably make sure of it."

"I'll talk to Dad," offered Roland.

"Really?" Amy asked dubiously. "And say what?"

"I'll think of something." Roland stood up and made for the doorway, tousling his sister's hair as he went. "But I can't promise anything. You know what Dad's like."

"Hi!" Alex abandoned his second serve attempt and caught the ball he had just tossed in midair. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not stalking your sister, I promise," Garrett replied, wheeling his way over to Jo and giving her hand a welcoming squeeze. "I saw you through the window and it seemed rude not to come and say hi." He had grown bored waiting for calls at the Firehouse and decided to get in a little exercise at the gym. And yes, it had occurred to him that Jo just might be there.

"Can you please take her away?" asked Scott, waving his racquet-free left hand in Jo's general direction. "She keeps yelling at us and it's putting me off."

"I have to yell at them," Jo defended herself. "They can't find the lines, they're holding their racquets too loose and neither one of them has served an ace. Somebody has to get their standard up to scratch."

"You're like that Marines guy from 'Full Metal Jacket'," remarked Alex. "And I'll have you know it's not helping my performance one bit. You're making me feel flustered."

"Me too," added Scott. "I think we should take a break."

"Agreed," Alex nodded solemnly. "I vote we go for a pizza and then we get Garrett to show us Ghostbusters HQ."

"Why do you want to see Ghostbusters HQ?" Jo asked confusedly. "You've neither of you shown the slightest bit of interest in the Ghostbusters in your entire life."

"True," Alex agreed, "but some of my friends think they're awesome. I don't know about Scott, but if I can honestly say I've been there it'll do wonders for my street cred."

"Come on, Dad," reasoned Roland. "Ok, so he's two years older than her, but I don't see any harm in them just going to the movies together. Which one of them is it that you don't trust?"

"That weird little hippie, of course!" snapped Phil. He wasn't much enjoying this defiance from his oldest son, whom he had always been able to count on for support when it came to the care of his daughters.

"So you trust AJ."

"Well of course I do!"

"Right," Roland went on calmly. "She's a sensible girl. She wouldn't let anything happen."

"She may not be able to stop it, Roland."

Roland's expression darkened slightly as he argued, "Oscar wouldn't even ask her to do anything she didn't want to, never mind trying to force her. He's a good kid."

"Mind if I say something?" Casey asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"Go ahead, Case," Phil agreed, knowing that his fourth son would be on his side.

"Are you nuts?" Casey addressed his brother. "You can't actually mean to tell us that you want her to go out with a sixteen year old."

"I'll admit I'm not over the moon about it," Roland answered calmly. "But I think we should try and learn from what happened with Tara. At least if we give Amy our blessing to go out with Oscar, we'll know what she's doing and who she's doing it with. And it's almost bound not to work out. If it doesn't, she'll feel like she can come to us instead of going off and making an even stupider mistake. I can just see this turning into the Tara situation all over again," he addressed his father.

Phil shook his head. "Amy wouldn't. She's too smart. If we keep telling her no, she'll give in eventually."

Roland bit his tongue. He didn't want to upset his father too much, and yet these words reminded him of something Tara had once said, liking the Jackson household to a prison camp. Admittedly it wasn't quite that bad, and Amy hadn't suffered for as long as she was happy just to behave as her father would wish. But now that she actually wanted to do something for herself, Roland was finally able to see that his youngest sister was no longer a little girl and she was being pretty hard done by here.

Sarah Kendall's rusty old maroon Ford came to a steady halt in the Firehouse garage. Jo climbed out of the driver's seat and made her way around to the back of the car in order to retrieve Garrett's wheelchair.

Garrett twisted at the waist to look at Alex and Scott, who were engrossed in a thumb war on the back seat. "I think you managed to sit still for five minutes on the way here," he told the boys dryly. "Are you sure you can sit through three whole tennis matches?"

"Oh, don't worry," Jo assured him, pulling open the passenger door and thrusting Garrett's wheelchair towards him. "Nobody's allowed near the TV during the tennis. They'll be fine. They get pretty fidgety during the big points, but that's pretty much expected of the crowd these days. Want a hand?"

"Thanks," Garrett smiled appreciatively, Jo's steadying hand under one arm not making him feel too helpless.

"Whoa!" Alex and Scott exclaimed in unison, scrambling to get out of the car when they finally caught sight of something worth seeing. "That's so awesome!" the latter declared excitedly.

"Oh... lovely," Jo remarked sarcastically, instinctively shrinking away as her brothers revelled in the attentions of Slimer. "You'll never have another summer this good, boys: your first ghost and third-rate seats at the US Open."

"Sorry Jo," Garrett apologised. "Shoulda warned you about Slimer. He's ok really; just don't try to eat anything. He'll snatch it right out of your hand."

"Oh, oh, OH!" a young voice suddenly exclaimed, and Alex and Scott had to jump apart as a little blond girl suddenly streaked past them towards the open front door. "Why can nobody shut doors around here? It's so dangerous!"

"It's the middle of summer, Eden!" Janine called from the reception desk across the room. "Why are you and your brother suddenly so anxious that we shut all the doors and windows?"

"Some kind of experiment into the effects of severe heat exhaustion?" Garrett added dryly. Then, turning to the Kendall clan, he said, "I should have warned you about her and her brother too. Eden Spengler: one of our resident insane geniuses."

"I'm not insane!" Eden objected loudly. "I just don't see the point in taking chances, that's all! Wouldn't you rather be a little bit hot than have your eyes gouged out? You'll be ok," she added, her tone calming, as she smiled politely at Alex and Scott, who were still wearing their Roddick-endorsed tennis gear. "That's sensible dress for this time of year."

"Um... thank you," Alex responded, blinking bemusedly at this strange girl.

"Mind you," Eden went on thoughtfully, "it can't help your chances, having your arms and legs exposed like that..."

"Don't panic, Edie," another young voice chimed in, and John Spengler walked briskly between Alex and Scott towards his sister. Leaning in close to her, he went on in furtive tones, "I'm pretty sure we can bird-proof the whole building..."

"Hey!" It was Janine's turn to barge her way past Alex and Scott. "What are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing, Mother," Eden smiled sweetly.

"Just... uh..." – John's gaze fell upon their young male visitors, and his eyes widened in surprise – "bummed that somebody created a human clone before either of us."

Janine's glance sidled towards the brothers. She was all ready to apologise for her son's rudeness until it struck her that – wow – they really did look exactly the same. Well, maybe not exactly, but there was no doubt in Janine's mind that the older boy had looked just like his brother a couple of years ago. But they didn't seem to mind the bad protocol they had been greeted with. They seemed distracted: evidently not quite sure whether they'd rather look at Slimer, the slightly strange five year olds or the potentially just-as-interesting new arrival who had just driven past the window in a blue Mustang.

"Hi Roland," Garrett greeted the newcomer that was wandering in from outside. "Shut the door; Eden's trying to suffocate us all. You look rough."

"Family crisis," Roland shrugged dismissively, obediently kicking the front door shut behind him. "Hi Jo."

"Hi Roland," Jo returned smilingly. They had met once, just briefly, one Sunday in May when the Ghostbusters had had to interfere with a first date that didn't quite go according to plan.

"Is my sister still here?" Roland asked Janine.

"She sure is," John cut in. "She opened the kitchen window!"

"There's a baby in the building, you know," Eden added, in martyred tones. "Since we weren't allowed to surround her with chicken wire, we should at least take a few basic precautions."

"What are they on about?" Roland murmured to Janine.

"I'm still trying to figure it out," Janine whispered back. "All I've got so far is that they're worried something's going to come in from outside and start gouging out everybody's eyes."

"Chicken wire probably wouldn't be much good anyway," John lamented. "It'd keep out chickens, obviously; but the starlings and things were really really small and they could probably squeeze through..."

"Um... anyway." Garrett decided it was high time to draw Jo's attention away from the slightly less typical aspects of his life. "Roland, these are Jo's little brothers: Alex and Scott."

"Really?" Roland asked brightly – more brightly than was strictly necessary. Garrett was confused at first – but than he remembered that he had already mentioned Scott Kendall once before, and instantly regretted it.

"Do you guys... um... want something to drink?" Roland enquired politely.

"Roland!" hissed Garrett, punching his friend's arm emphatically as they made their way to the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"AJ may not thank me for it, but I figure it's worth a try," Roland hissed back. "There's no way in the world she'll ever have Dad's blessing to go out with Oscar. Maybe I can try to distract her. Scott seems pretty..."

"Average," Garrett provided. Roland was obviously trying to think of a polite way to put it. "What girl would choose a guy as normal as that over a budding rock star? Scott's a good kid, but it seems to me like your sister wants more than that."

"What happened?" Amy asked anxiously, dashing towards Roland and grabbing his sleeve without even noticing that he had company. "What did Dad say?"

"It's not looking good, AJ," Roland answered apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"O-oh." Amy's face fell into an expression of sheer gloom as the flopped onto the nearest seat at the table. "I hate my life."

"You're beginning to sound just like Tara," Roland remarked, pulling three Cokes out of the fridge. "Hey – meet Garrett's girlfriend Jo. And these are her brothers: Scott and uh..."

"Alex," Alex provided.

"Right. Sorry," Roland smiled sheepishly. "Guys, this is my sister Amy."

"Call me AJ," Amy put in, raising her eyes slightly but not bothering to smile. "Everybody does."

"Really?" asked Scott. "Why?"

"Because those are my initials," Amy explained patiently. "Amy Jackson – geddit? And for some reason I'm the only one with any such nickname despite being the sixth in my family."

"Oh, didn't you know?" Roland asked casually. "Casey thought of it."

"He did?" Amy looked surprised for a moment, and then her expression darkened. "Well in that case, don't call me AJ. Right now I don't feel inclined to condone anything Casey says, thinks or does."

"It's rotten luck, I know," Roland smiled sympathetically. "But don't take it out on Casey."

"Huh," Amy snorted derisively.

Roland rolled his eyes. "Don't start that. Boy, you really are starting to sound like Tara. It's not like you just to sit around when you're feeling down. Maybe you should try cheering yourself up with... I don't know... these guys get their fun playing tennis," he announced brightly, nodding towards Alex and Scott.

"Really?" Amy asked disinterestedly, her eyes narrowing slightly on Scott's face. "I suppose you think it'd be a good idea if Scott and I went off together and had a little training session. Hey, Scott. How old are you?"

"Um... fourteen." Was everybody in this place insane?

"Me too," Amy smiled serenely. "What an incredible coincidence."

"What are you on about, AJ?" Roland asked warily.

"I told you not to call me that!" his sister snapped, suddenly jumping to her feet. "I can't believe you! I thought you'd be on my side! I never would have dreamed you'd lie to me about talking to Dad!"

"I didn't - "

"You could at least have made it a bit less obvious!" Amy ploughed on. "You leave; an hour later you come back with that nerdy jock from 'Grease'! Ironic really. Tara said I was like Sandy to her Rizzo. Do you remember what happens to Sandy at the end of that movie, Roland?"

"Um..."

"I do! She turns into a slut! Well you've only yourselves to blame, all of you! And I'm going out with Oscar whether you like it or not!"

An awkward silence ensued once Amy had stormed out of the room. Roland knew he should apologise to Scott on his sister's behalf, but he was just speechless. Until that day it had never occurred to him that she looked anything like Tara. But then she had never before worn one of her sister's I-hate-you looks.

"Sorry about her." Garrett did the honours. "She's just at that age."

"What age?" Scott asked indignantly.

"Oh... you know... the age where girls go a little crazy," Garrett replied breezily. "Put it down to hormones."

More silence. Roland wasn't just speechless; he was motionless too. He just wasn't used to such behaviour from his youngest sister. As for Garrett, he was just waiting for Jo to turn round and walk out. This wasn't exactly the kind of impression he had wanted to give her: a little green ghost, hysterical five year olds and verbal abuse on her youngest brother. She didn't seem to want to leave just yet, but that might well change. Surely, Garrett reasoned with himself, there must be something in this place she'd enjoy seeing.

"Hey Jo," ventured Garrett. "Wanna meet the baby?"

Jo's face lit up as she exclaimed, "Oh, yes please!"

"Thought you might," smiled Garrett, rotating his chair towards the door. "You can meet her big sister too. She's nice and normal. Follow if you want to, guys," he added as he wheeled himself from the room.

"Aww, look at you!" Jo was gushing five minutes later. She was on the sofa beside Garrett, cradling Rose Rivera in her lap while Alex and Scott stood impassively by. "Aren't you beautiful!"

Eduardo and Kylie, on the other side of the room, silently nodded their agreement.

"Don't you have gorgeous eyes!" Jo went on. It was true: Rose's eyes were adorably huge like her mother's and sister's; and they were coloured a rich, dark-brown like her father's. Sadly however, blinking back at Jo's smitten expression, they also looked full of scorn. But Jo had already been warned of the baby's sheer contempt for all things cheery.

"Eyes," a familiar voice muttered darkly from somewhere behind them. "She won't have gorgeous eyes for much longer if we're not careful. She won't have any kind of eyes at all. None of us will."

Conchita Rivera was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, happily admiring the elaborately beautiful illustrations in "The Big Book of Princesses". On hearing this sinister prediction from John Spengler, she looked up and asked confusedly, "What are you doing?"

"Protection," John explained, holding up a misshapen old ceiling fan (one could only imagine how he had got hold of that, and what he intended to do with it) and a milk bottle full of blue liquid labelled, "Bird Repellent: Prototype A". "It still needs a lot of work, so in the meantime Eden and I recommend employing the use of protective clothing. Here." He put down his Bird Repellent in order to throw an old pair of lab goggles towards Conchita. "You should wear eye protection at all times."

"These are covered in soot or something," Conchita complained, picking up the goggles and then throwing them down contemptuously. "I'm not wearing them."

John frowned disapprovingly. Conchita was normally such an acquiescent little girl, but just occasionally it became apparent that she had inherited more from her parents than just his looks and her brains. When asked to do something she really wasn't happy with, out came Eduardo and Kylie's combined insubordination.

"This place is crazy," Alex suddenly remarked. "So much for bragging to my friends. No one would believe it. Hey Jo – me and Scott are going to hop on a bus back to the gym, ok?"

"Ok," Jo agreed, though it was apparent that she wasn't really listening. Rose Rivera had her undivided attention.

"Whoa – sorry," said Alex, as he collided with somebody in the doorway. "Oh – cheer up! It might never happen."

"That's exactly the problem," Oscar mumbled dejectedly as he made his way over to the sofa. "Hi Jo. What are you doing here?"

"Looking around and meeting people," Jo shrugged dismissively. She already knew Oscar fairly well, having been to a Mood Slime gig with Garrett on their first date. "Are you ok?"

"Sure," Oscar replied unconvincingly.

"JOHN!" an excited voice squeaked, and Eden Spengler suddenly ran into the room, closely followed by an utterly baffled Janine. "I've just had a thought!"

"What?" her brother asked sharply.

"Marvin!" exclaimed Eden.

"Marvin should be put down!" John proclaimed dramatically. "Talk about an unnecessary risk!"

"Who's Marvin?" Oscar asked Janine.

"My parakeet," Janine answered blandly, not taking her eyes off the twins.

"Oh God." Oscar's expression of despair deepened. "I'm so sorry, Janine."

"Why?" Janine asked confusedly.

"I can't quite put my finger on it, but Marvin must be the key to protecting ourselves," Eden was adamant. "Think of that girl's lovebirds! The trouble didn't start until they arrived on the island. I think it's something to do with the fact that they were caged..."

"I am so, so sorry," Oscar apologised again. "This is all my fault, Janine. Jessica showed them 'The Birds' last night."

"Oh." Janine's expression somehow cleared and darkened at the same time. "That explains everything."

"I feel awful," Oscar sighed despairingly. "I should have tried harder to stop her. I'm really sorry. Jess was so sure they'd know the difference between a movie and real life. I never thought it would get out of hand. I'm sorry," he finished, his brilliant blue eyes looking pathetically puppy-like.

"Ah honey, it's not your fault," Janine said reassuringly, though there was a hint of irritation in her voice. "But I dread to think what they're planning to do to Marvin."

"You ok, Ro?" Garrett asked, as Roland wandered in from the next room.

"Yeah, you look rough," Eduardo added.

"I'm just really worried about – oh." Roland's expression darkened slightly as he caught sight of Oscar and said, very half-heartedly, "Hi."

"Hi," Oscar returned warily. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Well, I don't suppose you meant to," Roland had to concede. "But you've sent my little sister right off the rails."

"I haven't, have I?" Oscar asked anxiously. "Oh God. Everything's my fault. First I traumatise the twins and now this. All I did was ask her out. It never occurred to me that it might cause trouble. What's happened now?"

"Well," answered Roland, "she swore at Dad, yelled at me and renounced Casey and all his works. But the real problem is that now I don't know where she is."

Oscar suddenly felt overcome with guilt, but then he pursed his lips in thought as it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't entirely his fault. After all, Amy herself couldn't be held entirely blameless. And it had honestly never crossed his mind that she might do something like this. None of the offences Roland had listed was typical AJ behaviour.

Tara could almost believe that she had opened her front door to her fourteen-year-old self. "AJ! Wow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "You are looking hot, girl! I wondered if you were ever going to wear any of that stuff!"

Typical of younger siblings in a large family, Amy spent her life in hand-me-downs from her sister. She was usually only happy to wear the conventional stuff: jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, maybe the odd skirt or tank top in hot weather... basically stuff that maintained a suitable degree of modesty. Now, however, she had finally found her adventurous side and dared to go out in tight-fitting white denim shorts and a low-cut sleeveless top that left little to the imagination.

"I thought it was time to come out of my cocoon," Amy shrugged dismissively, grandly removing her dark glasses and shaking back her loose black hair as she sauntered through the doorway past her sister.

"I've been thinking that for years," Tara agreed, her gaze inadvertently falling upon Amy's chest, which seemed to have expanded considerably in the space of five hours. "Um... is that... all yours?" she asked tentatively.

"'Fraid not," Amy smiled sheepishly. "But who's gonna know?"

"You're not wearing any makeup," Tara observed disapprovingly. "Want me to help you out?"

"Couldn't hurt," shrugged Amy. "I actually came to call Oscar without the family finding out. Assholes. Ok if I use the phone?"

"Sure," Tara agreed, faintly surprised to see that her sister was already dialling. "I'll go and... um... dig out some nail polish."

Tara was at once both pleased and puzzled. Pleased that her sister finally seemed to have come out of her shell and be standing up for herself; puzzled that she was being so very unlike herself. Amy loved her brothers and hated upsetting her parents. She also felt very uncomfortable showing any real amount of skin; she never wore sunglasses and for some reason she always insisted on going around with that geeky ponytail. Yes, change was good. But the suddenness and drastic extent of the change had her sister worried.

"What do you mean he's not there?" Amy was shouting into the phone, when Tara returned to the sitting room with a diverse selection of suffocating cosmetics. "What did he want to go out for? I told him I'd call him back! Men, honestly! Well can you tell him I called? ...Ok Jess, thanks. Bye."

"Typical," Tara smiled sympathetically, arranging her pots and bottles neatly on the coffee table. "Ok, let's make you beautiful. Oscar won't recognise you when I'm through with you. You know 'Grease': John Travolta's face when he sees Sandy on the fairground? That's what we're aiming for."

"Sisters rock," Amy surmised, smiling approvingly at Tara's extravagant makeup collection. "No skimping, ok? I want to look at least as good as you."

Oscar looked as though his cat had just died. Jo didn't have the heart to let him walk or take the bus home alone, so she offered him a lift in her mother's car with herself and Garrett. Oscar was pathetically grateful, and during the journey he asked practically every minute if Jo was absolutely sure she didn't mind. She was tempted to say yes, she did mind, and then throw him out at the next set of traffic lights. But that would be too cruel. Instead she settled for saying jovially, "I didn't mind, but that was before I knew you were going to sit back there grovelling."

Some minutes after they had dropped Oscar outside his parents' house, Garrett suddenly realised that he and Jo had been unnaturally quiet. "You ok?" he asked anxiously.

"Just thinking," Jo replied. "I've got a problem."

"What's that?"

"I need to take my mom's car home. But when we get to your place I'm not going to want to leave."

"Well that's ok," asserted Garrett. "We can go to your place first and leave the car there. And then we can go back out if you want."

"I'd rather go straight home with you," Jo smiled shyly.

"Would you?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, Joey. You got it."

Oscar nearly jumped out of his brand new Nike kicks when he heard a familiar yet somehow strange voice purr seductively, "So there you are."

"AJ?" Oscar exclaimed in surprise, turning on the doorstep to see a glamorous black girl who looked about seventeen standing on the street outside his house. "What happened to you?"

"I came out of myself," Amy shrugged simply, pushing a black corkscrew curl (one of several she had acquired courtesy of Tara's Babyliss curling iron) behind her ear. "You haven't been home all afternoon. I tried to call you like I said I would."

"Sorry, AJ," Oscar smiled apologetically. "I just had to get out of the house for a while. Um... you look..."

"Great?" suggested Amy.

"Uh... yeah," Oscar agreed uncertainly – although "different" had been the first word to spring to mind. "So... I... take it you talked to your dad." Funny sort of reaction to whatever Phil Jackson had said, but what other explanation was there for this totally uncharacteristic behaviour?

"Sure did," Amy confirmed, enjoying the way Oscar was staring at her.

"What did he say?"

"That I'm not allowed to see you. And you know what? I'm glad."

"You are?" Oscar asked dubiously.

"Sure," Amy smiled serenely. "It'll make it more exciting. So, sweet-cheeks, where do you wanna go?"

"Home," Oscar replied at once. "And I think you should do the same. What are you playing at, AJ? Whichever one of your parents or brothers sees you first is going to kill you. Or at least throw you under a power-shower and wrap you in a full-length robe."

"Then it's probably not such a great idea for me to go home, is it," Amy returned emphatically. "C'mon, baby. You've been begging me to go out with you. Well, let's do it!"

"No," Oscar was adamant. "I wouldn't say I was begging exactly, but that's beside the point. If you wanted me to keep on liking you, why'd you change?"

"Oscar, you're not saying you don't like me," crooned Amy.

"This isn't you," Oscar told her firmly. "Jesus Christ, AJ – you look like a totally different person! You're acting like one too. And there's no way in the world I'm keeping you out all night against your dad's direct orders. Go home, take that muck of your face and go to bed. You'll feel really stupid about this in the morning, but when that passes give me a call and we'll talk, ok?"

He didn't stay to gauge her reaction, but when Oscar was standing in the hallway and kicking the front door shut behind him, it occurred to him that he really ought to see Amy home. She was only fourteen, and even though it was still light the streets of New York are never that safe.

When he opened the front door and looked out, Oscar saw that Amy was jumping onto a bus at the end of the street. He'd left her alone for all of thirty seconds and it was already too late to catch her up. Now he could only hope that she got home all right. He knew he was going to worry about her, though. The streets of New York are never that safe, and certainly not for a fourteen-year-old girl looking seventeen.

"Hey." Jessica appeared at the top of the stairs just as Oscar was kicking off his shoes in the hallway. "AJ called for you."

"Thanks, Jess," Oscar smiled half-heartedly. "I've seen her."

He was right: he couldn't stop worrying. So when he thought Amy had had enough time to get home, Oscar called the Jackson household to check that she'd arrived safely. He didn't really plan to talk to her again, not least because he'd undoubtedly get an earful from whoever answered the phone if he asked for her (unless it was Joey, presumably). But since Amy herself answered his call, Oscar didn't have much choice as far as talking to her went.

"Thank goodness you're safe," he said genuinely. "Sorry I left you on the street like that, AJ. I should have seen you home. But looking like that I just about forgot you were only fourteen."

"Fourteen shmourteen," snorted Amy. "I can take care of myself. You'd better go, Oscar. It's probably almost your bedtime."

"Are you ok, honey?" Dana asked anxiously, wandering into the hall from the kitchen and finding her son staring at the phone in his hand with a wounded expression on his face.

"Mom, have you ever known anyone to change completely in the course of a day?" Oscar asked her, still staring at the phone.

"Well, your sister's tendency to talk back came pretty suddenly," Dana replied thoughtfully. "And your father turned into a completely different person quite soon after I married him. Why?"

"That's Andre to you, Mom," Oscar intoned darkly. He was still not looking at her, and he was still holding onto the phone.

"Sorry," Dana smiled apologetically. "Put that down, sweetie, or it'll start making that horrible noise. PETER! JESS!" she called up the stairs. "DINNER'S READY! Coming, Oscar?"

"Um..." Oscar favoured the receiver with one more bemused look before replacing it on its cradle. "Sure."

Jo's Monday morning shift at the gym started at nine o'clock. Garrett had the foresight to set his alarm for six, as Jo was a self-confessed slacker when it came to early mornings. When she finally did get out of bed she'd still have to get dressed, eat, go for a run, take a shower and get dressed again. The alarm woke her all right, but when at half-past six Jo showed every sign of being fast asleep again, Garrett went and started on breakfast in the hope that the enticing smell of fried food would coax her back to consciousness.

The sound and smell of gently simmering bacon had the desired effect. Jo staggered into the kitchen, wearing only her loose-fitting pale-yellow t-shirt from the day before and looking like she'd crawled backwards through a hedge. Her brown eyes were heavy and her hair, with its earthy dark-blond colour, actually did look remarkably like a bird's nest. Garrett thought she looked beautiful.

"Morning," he greeted her, throwing a warm smile over his shoulder as he flipped a slice of bread in the frying pan. "Want some breakfast?"

"Why do you think I got out of bed?" Jo yawned sleepily. She managed to totter her way across the kitchen and squeeze Garrett's shoulders. "Hey. Thanks for last night."

Jo stooped lower and wrapped her arms around Garrett's neck; he turned his head to meet her kiss. Rather unromantically he was still holding his bread-flipping spatula, but with his other hand he reached up and gave Jo's wrist an affectionate squeeze.

"Glad you enjoyed it," said Garrett, when Jo pulled away.

"Of course I enjoyed it," she returned, wandering over to the kitchen table and taking a seat. "I take it I can't – uh – return the favour?"

"No," Garrett smiled ironically. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Of course not," Jo answered through a wide yawn. "As a matter of fact it works out pretty well. I'm very selfish when it comes to that sort of thing."

"Don't fall asleep," Garrett advised, turning to see Jo with her eyes shut and her elbows on the table, gently massaging her temples. "Food's on the way."

"It better hurry," Jo mumbled sleepily. "Remind me never to let you keep me up that late on a work night again."

He was sixteen. It was the middle of summer. Oscar should be bussing to the beach with his friends, or at least sitting in McDonald's with them. He shouldn't be sitting at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, allowing his cereal to go soggy while he and his stepfather listened to the female members of their family arguing in the next room.

"Serves them right," Jessica's muffled tones declared churlishly.

"For what?" Dana demanded, sounding absolutely shocked.

"Doubting the quality of special effects in the nineteen-sixties," retorted Jessica. "Do them good to be proved wrong for once."

"Jessica!" her mother exclaimed. "Those children are five years old! There is no excuse for showing horror movies to five year olds!"

"It's a classic, Mom!" argued Jessica. "It's educational!"

"Young lady, watching people being ripped to pieces by psychotic birds is not educational!" Dana shouted angrily. "Now stop arguing with me! Do you know how much you scared those poor children? And more importantly: do you know what they did as a result?"

"Yes Mom, I know," Jessica returned insolently. "You've told me a million times since Janine called you. She's a rotten dirty snitch if you ask me. It's not my fault her kids don't know the difference between real life and a movie. They're supposed to be smart. I thought they'd realise it was all fake."

"Well you obviously should have thought a bit harder," her mother retorted. "Now I want you to call Janine and apologise."

"Poor Jess," Oscar sympathised. "Mom should be yelling at me too, you know. It was Jess's idea, but it's not like I couldn't have stopped her."

"You couldn't have stopped her," Peter snorted derisively. "Don't worry about it, kid. We can none of us be held responsible for anything that girl does. What's up with you anyway?" he asked anxiously. "You've seemed really down ever since yesterday afternoon."

"Girl trouble," Oscar smiled half-heartedly. "I wouldn't dream of asking your advice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter asked indignantly.

"I wasn't trying to be subtle, Dad," Oscar grinned at him. Somehow, however down he was feeling, Peter's mere presence always seemed to cheer him up. "I never would have been born if you weren't so utterly hopeless when it comes to women."

"I'm real glad you were, though," Peter smiled fondly. "Come on – tell me about it. It's breaking my heart seeing you with that miserable look on your face."

Oscar knew that his dad would listen to his problems with a sympathetic ear and only make the bare minimum of jokes. It was the perfect opportunity to get things off his chest – but unfortunately Dana ruined it by walking in and swatting her husband on the forehead.

"Hey!" Peter objected, adopting a wounded look similar to the one that Amy had left Oscar with the previous evening.

"Why is it always me?" demanded Dana, still wearing the same foreboding expression that she had been using on Jessica. "Why am I always the one to yell at her and bear the brunt of her bad moods? It's always the same: I tell her off and you take her to the movies. It's no wonder she likes you more."

"She does not like me more," argued Peter.

"Right now she does, and you can't very well blame her," Dana ploughed on. "It's always me that does the tough stuff. Have you ever yelled at that girl even once?"

"Sure I have."

"When?"

"Dana, please, it's too early in the morning."

"I don't think you have," Dana was adamant. "You're too much of a coward. The look she gives me when I'm doing it is absolutely heartbreaking. I don't like upsetting my girl, but somebody's got to do it. How come it's never you? She's your daughter too, you know. I don't see why I always have to be the bad guy."

Peter could think of nothing to say but what he thought his wife wanted to hear: "Don't be like that, honey. Of course you don't always have to be the bad guy."

"Oh," Dana smiled complacently. "Good. Let's see you, then."

"See me what?" Peter asked confusedly.

"Get in there and discipline your daughter, of course."

Peter shot a panicked look at Oscar, silently appealing for help. But Oscar simply shrugged his helplessness. Aside from the fact that he had no power over his mother as far as Jessica was concerned, he was quite interested to see what would happen next. Dana was right: Peter hardly ever set aside his benign disposition to discipline his children.

"Ah honey." When Peter had left the room, Dana abandoned her forbidding look and flopped onto the chair beside Oscar. "You were never this much trouble. You stay out 'til three a.m. most weekends playing rock music and you still aren't as much trouble as your eleven-year-old sister. How come?"

"Genetics, I suppose," shrugged Oscar. "My father's a stiff. Hers is cool."

"Hey sport," Peter's cheery voice wafted from the next room.

"Bad start," Dana muttered darkly, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Hi Dad," Jessica returned morosely. "Did you hear all of that?"

"Hear what, honey?" Peter asked innocently.

"Mom. She was just totally laying into me for showing a movie to a couple of kids. Ok, so it was a violent horror movie from a notoriously shocking director. Is it my fault they took it to be real?"

"Um... I suppose not. But maybe you should have been a bit more careful about what you showed them."

"Da-ad!" Jessica whined pathetically. "Mom and Oscar are already treating me like some kind of child corruptor! Don't you start!"

"Sorry, Jessie," Peter mumbled sheepishly. "We all know you didn't mean to scare them."

"Oh for heaven's sake!" fumed Dana, forcefully pushing back her chair as she rose to her feet.

In that moment a knock came at the door.

"I'll get it," Oscar volunteered, grateful for the excuse not to start eating his soggy cereal just yet. Why had he been so stupid as to let it get into that state?

He wandered out into the hallway, pulled open the front door and instantly regretted it. He just had time to take in the identity of his visitor before a large, dark fist flew towards him and cannoned painfully into his handsome face.

"Jesus, Casey!" Oscar exclaimed, reeling back in surprise and pain and instinctively clutching a hand to his bleeding nose. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Not such a lady-killer now, are you, pretty-boy!" Casey yelled angrily. "Now listen to this, you weirdo hippie, because I'm only gonna say it once: stay away from my sister!"

Dana, Peter and Jessica all flocked into the hallway just as Casey was pulling the front door shut with as much force as he had put into the punch. Jessica ran to the window to confirm her suspicions as to her brother's attacker. She had thought she recognised the voice, and the sight of Casey's retreating form told her that she was right.

"What did you do?" she asked, throwing Oscar a wide-eyed look.

"I don't know," Oscar replied truthfully, his voice distorted by the hand in front of his mouth and his damaged nose.

"Oh my goodness," fretted Dana. "Come on honey, let's get you cleaned up." She put her hands on Oscar's shoulders and steered him gently towards the kitchen. Here she sat him on the table, showed him where to pinch his nose and then started pulling all kinds of ointments and bandages out of a drawer. "Now what on earth was that all about?"

"He hit you!" Peter exclaimed angrily. "That crazy sonuvabitch hit you! What the hell is wrong with that kid?"

"What did you do, Oscar?" Jessica asked again.

"I told you, Jess: I don't know!" her brother returned irritably.

"Well, I don't think it's broken," mused Dana, dabbing at her son's violently bleeding nose with a tissue. "I wouldn't worry too much, honey. Once I've stopped this bleeding you'll have your looks back again in no time."

"Is he crazy?" Peter asked incredulously.

"It's something to do with AJ," Jessica persisted. "You saw her yesterday, Oscar. What happened?"

"Nothing," Oscar answered through his mother's attentions. "She was all tarted up and she said she wanted us to go out. I sent her home."

"How come?" asked Jessica.

"I wasn't going to take her out against her family's wishes," Oscar proclaimed nobly. "And besides, she was acting funny. To be perfectly honest I thought maybe she'd been at her sister's liquor cabinet. Ow!"

"Sorry, sweetie," Dana smiled apologetically. She threw the blood-soaked tissue neatly into the bin and immediately reached for a fresh one. "Wow. I haven't seen you bleed this much since you haemorrhaged after your appendectomy."

"What's going on?" Peter asked, utterly baffled by the whole situation. "What's Casey's sister got to do with this? Oh – Oscar, you didn't!"

"Didn't what?" Oscar demanded curtly.

"You tell me," returned Peter.

"I didn't do anything to AJ," Oscar was adamant. "After I sent her home yesterday evening I called to make sure she got back ok. She even seemed like she wasn't interested anymore."

"You must have done something that Casey didn't like," reasoned Dana, throwing yet another blood-drenched tissue away. "Are you sure you can't think of anything?"

"All I did was ask her out a couple of times," Oscar insisted. "Although Roland did tell me yesterday it made her fall out with a few people – Casey included. I suppose they might hold me responsible for her sudden makeover-cum-personality-transplant yesterday."

"He shouldn't have punched you in the face," Peter intoned darkly. "He shouldn't have punched you anywhere, come to that. So you asked his sister out. It's not your fault she went wild-child on them."

"Dad's right, Oscar," Jessica agreed. "It's their fault for not letting her go out with you. When Mom's done fixing your face you should go over there and sock him one back."

"Jessica!" snapped Dana. "Two wrongs don't make a right. But I think, honey," she went on, turning back to Oscar, "once we've sorted this mess out, you should go with Daddy to the Firehouse and try to get some answers from Roland."

Daddy. Oscar rolled eyes. Just because his mother was mopping up his blood she thought he was five years old again. "Why Roland?" he asked.

"I think you'll get the most sense out of him," answered Dana. "He's a reasonable man and he likes you. Her parents wouldn't listen to you, and if you try to confront Casey you might well come back with a black eye or two. Ah baby, it's like Niagara Falls here! Can you at least try to stop bleeding? Honestly Oscar. Trust you to want the one girl you can't have."

John and Eden Spengler were sitting on the floor in front of Janine's desk, both hunched over a book that offered advice to those considering a hobby in bird watching. Eden was convinced that the characters in Hitchcock's thriller would have stood a better chance of survival if even one of them had bothered to do a bit of basic research into their enemy. John was quick to point out that the book was a pretty poor source of help for their cause: perhaps the most useful pieces of information this literature offered were ideas on the best places to find jays, and the feeding habits of common types of robin (even this not being very useful, as "human eyes" was not listed). But, as Eden had pointed out, it was the best they had until somebody agreed to take them to the library.

"What are you wearing?" Jessica asked scathingly, frowning down on the twins as they watched Oscar and Peter ascending the stairs to the floor above.

"Protective clothing," Eden explained, her blue eyes blinking at Jessica from behind a cloudy old pair of swimming goggles. "It won't keep them out forever, but it should buy us some time in the event of an attack."

"You'll boil alive in there," warned Jessica, the pores on her bare arms opening at the very thought of being trapped inside one of those thick duffel coats. "Take them off. You're idiots, both of you. Hasn't anybody bothered to explain to you that it was only a movie?"

"Oh, we know it was only a movie," John returned casually, squinting at Jessica through the scratches on the old pair of lab specs he was wearing. "But there's no point taking chances. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it's not gonna."

"Don't be stupid." Jessica curled her upper lip scornfully. "Of course it isn't going to happen."

"What if your brother had felt the urge to wear a football helmet today, just on the off chance?" Eden demanded tersely. "I suppose you would have thought that was stupid too."

Jessica was stumped by this reasoned argument.

"What happened to him anyway?" John wanted to know.

"He got punched in the face," Jessica replied simply.

The twins exchanged a look through their cloudy goggles before saying simply, in perfect unison, "Oh."

Upstairs, meanwhile, Conchita was being a lot more sympathetic.

"What happened?" she asked anxiously, her little brown arms wrapped around Oscar's legs in some vague attempt to comfort him.

"I... um... walked into a door," Oscar replied evasively, thinking it best not to alert a mild-mannered three-year-old girl to the sad reality of violence. "Honey, have you seen Roland?"

"I think he's in the kitchen," Conchita replied. "He's very upset about something so you have to be nice to him."

"Why's he upset?" Oscar asked guardedly.

"I don't know," Conchita replied, and Oscar could feel her pretty little face contorting into a frown against his hip. "They were all whispering. Nobody tells me anything."

"OSCAR!" Peter's voice called out from the kitchen. "Get your ass in here!"

"Oh, hey – cover your ears, children. I do apologise for my father," Oscar smiled jovially, placing his hands lightly over Conchita's ears and making her giggle. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. And I'm fine, I promise you. Let me go now, ok?"

Conchita gave him one last sympathetic squeeze around the thighs before returning to the picture book that she had been showing to her very unappreciative little sister (under their parents' supervision, of course). Oscar briefly wondered why his own sister had never treated him that well, and then wandered into the kitchen where Peter and Roland were waiting for him.

"Will you look at this?" exclaimed Peter, pulling Oscar forcibly towards him and pointing a forefinger at the very obvious patch-up job on the boy's nose. "Just look at what your crazy little brother did to my son! You should see the amount of blood we had to clear up!"

"Dad, don't yell at Roland," Oscar said soothingly. "He's not the one who hit me."

"Sorry about that, Oscar," Roland apologised, not the least bit convincingly. "He wasn't supposed to punch you in the face. He was supposed to find AJ."

"How d'you mean find her?" Oscar frowned confusedly. "She wasn't with me. Last thing I heard she was home safe."

"Really?" Roland looked surprised. "You mean she wasn't with you last night?"

Oscar shook his head. "I saw her around six looking like – well – like Tara. She got on a bus and went home, so I called half an hour later to make sure she'd arrived safely. She had, and that was the last I heard from her."

"That's not what I wanted to hear," Roland muttered, in worried tones. "This means we have no idea where she is. Dad sent her to her room early when she got home. She was gone by eight; we all just assumed she was with you."

"Why did you assume that?" Peter demanded indignantly. "Oscar wouldn't keep a fourteen-year-old girl out all night."

"I can't worry about that now," snapped Roland. "My little sister's missing and she could be anywhere by now. She could be lying at the bottom of a ditch for all we know!"

"Calm down," a gentle female voice advised, and they all looked up to see Tara (who had been excused from work that day due to exceptional circumstances) standing in the kitchen doorway. "I just went round to all of her friends' houses and interrogated them personally. I suppose I could have called, but it's so easy to lie over the phone. She wasn't with any of them. I know because I looked, despite countless threats to call the police. Hey – we already did that, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Roland replied blandly. "Mom did it."

"I take it she hasn't shown up here."

Roland shook his head.

"And Marcus hasn't called?"

Roland shook his head again. Marcus was at home in case Amy showed up there or tried phoning. Phil and his wife Sharon were scouring the streets for their younger daughter; Ryan had taken Joey and they were searching out all of their sister's usual haunts. Tara, as we know, had been asking around Amy's friends while Roland sat tight at the Firehouse, knowing that Amy might choose her oldest brother as the best sibling to approach with whatever strange problem she had developed since yesterday morning. And Casey, it seemed, was wandering the streets beating up anybody he thought had a hand in his sister's disappearance.

"This is terrible," fretted Oscar. "I'm so sorry, you guys. This is all my fault. If I'd known any of this was gonna happen..."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Tara, favouring Oscar with a light slap on the head. "All you did was ask her out. It happens every day. It's their fault for not letting her go out with you," and she tilted her head towards Roland: a gesture encompassing every member of her immediate family but Joey. "Or else it's my fault for encouraging her."

"Let's not start pointing fingers," Peter advised. "Your brother already tried that and somebody ended up with a bleeding nose."

"You know," Oscar ventured timidly, "something's really been nagging at me ever since I saw AJ yesterday evening. This isn't the slightest bit like her, and the change was so very sudden. She never used to dress like that."

"My fault," Tara deduced sadly.

"I'm not so sure," Oscar frowned thoughtfully. "AJ loves you like crazy, Tara, but she's never tried to emulate you before. And the day before yesterday she never would have even considered dressing like that. Ok, so tastes change – but overnight? Something doesn't fit."

"Is this going somewhere?" Roland asked pointedly.

"She called me the morning after she stayed with you, Tara," Oscar pointed out.

"Yeah," Tara agreed. "I made her."

"She seemed normal then," Oscar went on. "She started to go crazy when her dad and her brothers said they wouldn't let her see me."

"She turned on me very suddenly when she came here yesterday," Roland remembered. "Does anyone know what happened next?"

"She came to see me," Tara provided. "Right after she'd gone home and dressed herself up like a slut."

"She dressed like you, Tara," Roland pointed out.

"Yeah, so?" shrugged Tara. "We both know I'm a slut, Ro. Anyway, when she came to my apartment yesterday afternoon she seemed like a totally different person. I did question it, but I was so pleased she'd finally come out her shell that I didn't want to believe anything was wrong. But now you mention it, Oscar, Karen and I have both complained of funny feelings in the kitchen. Maybe the apartment's haunted or something."

"It wouldn't surprise me at all if she was possessed," Roland sighed despairingly. "Tara, can you please come with me to look at your apartment? You can keep looking for Amy if you'd prefer, but you know the place better than I do."

"Of course I'll go with you," Tara agreed. "Heck, we've tried everything else. Got your car?"

"Yeah."

"Who else is coming?"

"I will," Peter volunteered. "I don't think Garrett's here. Kylie or Eduardo or both of them could come with us. Egon must be around...?"

"Garrett's got a date this afternoon," Roland thought out loud. "I'll go and rally up a team. Thanks, Dr. Venkman. Tara, go and start the car," and he tossed his keys to his sister.

"Can I drive?" Tara asked eagerly.

"No."

"Ugh." Tara's expression turned sour as she followed her brother from the room. "I hate you!"

"Hey." Peter caught sight of Oscar's downcast expression and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "I hope you're not blaming yourself for all of this."

"I suppose it's not all my fault, especially if it turns out she really is possessed or something," Oscar admitted. "But I did have a part in it. I can't help feeling bad, Dad."

"Of course you can't." Peter wrapped his arms around Oscar and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I wouldn't go out and join the search party if I were you. Like your mom said, you might come back with more than just a bloody nose. How's that feeling?"

"I can't smell anything, but it doesn't hurt anymore," Oscar shrugged dismissively.

"Good," Peter approved. "Perhaps you could get on the Internet and see if you can find out if maybe Tara's apartment is haunted. You know: see if anybody died there or anything. I hear it's a pretty iffy neighbourhood. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Ok Dad," Oscar agreed, cheering up slightly at the prospect of being of some help to the situation. "If you're all shooting off, I suppose Janine'd probably be grateful for an extra eye on the her kids."

"Atta-boy." Peter tweaked Oscar's dark ponytail affectionately (his nose being temporarily off-limits) before making for the door. "I'll see you later. Try not to worry too much, ok? And take care of your sister for me."

"Hey." Jo ran to meet Garrett on the quad outside the gym, stooping to smack him on the mouth. "Miss me?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Garrett smiled at her. "I haven't seen you for... what, four hours?"

"Something like that." Jo took a step back as Garrett turned his chair around, and then she fell into step beside him. "Hey. Guess who was waiting for me when I got to work this morning."

"Um... Jesus?"

"No. Mom. She had such a go at me. I haven't been home since yesterday morning except to drop the car outside. She said I should have called in to let her know I'd be out all night. I pointed out that a) it was the middle of the night and b) I'm twenty-three years old. But she wouldn't listen. Apparently just because I've grown up doesn't mean she's stopped loving me. It's not fair. All Mom did to Alex when he missed his curfew was hug him and tell him not to do it again. I didn't even have a curfew, but I suppose I'm different because I'm a girl. Well – woman."

"And because she hadn't seen you for over twenty-four hours," Garrett pointed out. "And I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you. You've met my mom."

"You're mom's nice," reasoned Jo.

"Yeah, so's yours. Actually I thought about suggesting you call home last night, but that might have spoilt the mood a bit."

"Hey Jo!" a familiar voice called out from some yards away. They turned to see Alex and Scott waving at them from a table outside a cafe over the road. The younger brother continued to shout, "There you are! We were beginning to think something must have happened to you after we left you at that firehouse!"

Jo stuck her tongue out childishly at her brother, and then said to Garrett, "We won't eat there, then."

The trendy little cafe they picked turned out not to be the best choice either. For one thing the place charged five dollars for an eggcup's-worth of coffee. And for another, they were barely through the door before Ryan Jackson came charging up to them with his ten-year-old brother Joey in tow.

"Have you seen my sister?" Ryan demanded breathlessly.

"Which one?" enquired Garrett.

"Which one do you think?" screeched Ryan, his eyes wide with panic and frustration.

"Well how should I know?" Garrett shot back defensively.

"AJ, of course! Have you seen AJ? She's missing!"

"Since last night," Joey added helpfully. "And don't say maybe she's with Oscar, because Casey already tried that. Ha... ha ha..." he chuckled quietly to himself.

Every so often the search party members were required to call Tara on her cell phone (the home phone line to be kept clear) in order to exchange news. For some reason their sister had neglected to inform Ryan and Joey of the latest idea i.e. the possibility of supernatural involvement. But she'd delighted in telling them that Casey had left Oscar with a bleeding nose.

"I'm sorry, guys," Garrett sympathised. "It's not like AJ to go missing. We haven't seen her, but we'll definitely keep an eye out for her."

"Who's the arm candy?" Joey asked interestedly, looking Jo up and down in a manner most unbefitting of his ten years.

"Joseph!" snapped Ryan, smacking his little brother on the back of the head. "Our sister is missing! Don't you realise how serious this is?"

"I just don't get what the fuss is all about," Joey whined childishly, struggling against his brother's grip on his shoulder as he was shepherded out of the door. "Tara used to go missing all the time."

Garrett rolled his eyes and complained, "If it's not one thing it's another. We can stay and eat, Jo, but I think afterwards I'll feel awful if I don't help look for that girl."

"Are we surprised?" asked Jo. "I've only met her once, but she seemed very teenage when her brother tried to fix her up with Scott."

"That was very out of character," Garrett reported gravely. "This is worrying actually. And I'm sorry about that, by the way: the thing with your brother, I mean. I guess between us we must have given you a pretty strange impression. I'd understand if you decided to back out now."

"Well there's nothing like a guy who makes you feel wanted," Jo smiled dryly.

"Isn't this place the best?" Tara squeaked, throwing open the large linen closet and beckoning to Eduardo and Peter. "I can't believe we're getting it so cheap!"

"I can," Roland muttered darkly, twiddling a knob on his PKE meter. "Come home, Tara, before you get yourself murdered."

"It's bigger than my place," Eduardo remarked.

"Yes, but you wouldn't want your daughters growing up in a neighbourhood like this," Peter pointed out. "You can only imagine what these people do to produce that stink in the elevator."

"Are you two going to help us out with this, or just admire Tara's towels?" Egon asked tersely, appearing in one of the bedroom doorways.

At that point the phone started to ring. Tara kicked the door shut on her towels and went to answer the summons, saying blandly into the mouthpiece, "Yeah?"

"Hi Tara, it's Oscar," the caller replied. "How's it going?"

"I don't know. They haven't said much yet so I don't suppose they've found anything."

"Tell them to try the stove."

"Try the stove," ordered Tara. Then she said to Oscar, "Why?"

"I've found an old newspaper report on the Internet," Oscar replied. "A girl who used to live in your apartment electrocuted herself to death on the stove ten years ago. She was seventeen when it happened. I've got a picture here. Black girl; curly hair; tight leather mini and a tank top. Kinda cute," he added smilingly. "Nice ass."

"Wow," Tara heard Jessica's voice somewhere in the background. "You really don't like milk in your coffee, do you Oscar."

"'Course you don't," Tara smiled crookedly into the phone. "Black girls are hot. So come on. Who was she?"

"Leonora Evans, a.k.a. Leo. She lived in your apartment with her father since her parents divorced when she was four. She had an older brother living in Ohio with their mother, but none of them ever kept in touch. Her death was almost definitely an accident; she was stupid enough to take a shower and then touch the stove, which had been giving them electric shocks anyway according to the dad. Pretty and dumb, then. How's the stove now, Tara?"

"Looks brand new," Tara replied. "I guess somebody fixed it. Or replaced it, more likely. Actually that makes perfect sense. I haven't cooked once since I moved in here, and neither has my roommate. But AJ cooked breakfast for me and herself yesterday morning."

"So there's our answer," Oscar surmised. "How are they doing?"

"How are you doing?" Tara called into the kitchen.

"Your advice proved sound, Tara," Egon replied. "This stove is giving us a definite residual reading."

"Not my advice," Tara told him. "Oscar's. So what's next?"

"We still need to find AJ," Oscar pointed out. "Then we need to get this Leo Evans out of her."

"Right," nodded Tara. "Then the hard part: convincing my parents that AJ's blameless. Mind you, nothing's ever her fault. It's always me or Casey – and occasionally Joey. And it was my stove that started it, so I guess that makes this one my fault."

"Well at least they can't ground you or stop your allowance," Oscar reminded her in reassuring tones. "Anything else I can do?

"Nah," shrugged Tara. "Not unless you can think of anything. Thanks for you help, kid. And I want you to know that I was always in favour of you dating my sister."

"Thanks, Tara. That... uh... means a lot. Bye," Oscar smiled awkwardly.

Tara hung up and then called, "Guys! I know who's possessing AJ! And I'll tell you, Roland, if you let me drive your car!"

Sarah Kendall, who used to flinch at the very mention of the word "housewife", now divided her time between working with preschool children and slacking off at home. It was only when she gave up work to spend more time with Jo (and later the boys, obviously) that she realised "housewife" was actually a judicious term for a woman who occasionally pushes a vacuum cleaner around and spends the rest of the day watching sports matches on TV.

No offence to housewives who take their jobs seriously; obviously there's far more to it than that. But nevertheless this was how Sarah Kendall chose to interpret her marital role. She could just about justify it in her own mind: she had probably lost years of her life trying to look after a vivacious young girl and two positively explosive little boys practically single-handed. Now that they had grown up and could more or less fend for themselves, she deserved a break.

Alex and Scott wandered into the kitchen and threw their sweat-soaked t-shirts into the hamper down by the washing machine. There was always a chance somebody would get around to washing their clothes – most likely their father when he realised he had nothing to wear.

"Hi boys," Sarah garbled through a mouthful of food. She plucked a pork sausage from the plate on the kitchen counter and threw it to McEnroe, who immediately abandoned his irresistible cock-headed look in order to catch the morsel skilfully in midair. "Have you eaten?"

"Ah-ha," Alex and Scott replied in unison.

"Good," Sarah responded curtly. "Because I'm not making you anything. Put some clothes on, can't you?"

"Come on Mom, it's summer," reasoned Scott.

McEnroe suddenly went berserk as the doorbell rang. Alex and Scott looked expectantly at their mother, who indicated her plate of pork sausages and onion rings, meaning that she couldn't possibly answer the door in the middle of something so important. So Alex grabbed his t-shirt back again and threw it over his head on his way to the front door.

"Um..." was all he could think to say to the scantily clad black girl standing on the doorstep.

"Amy Jackson," the girl provided. "We met yesterday."

"Oh right." Alex's expression cleared. "Sorry. I didn't recognise you. You look kinda different."

"I was frumped up for my brother when you saw me," Amy explained smilingly. "I don't do that anymore. I hope you don't mind, but I followed you home. Because my would-be boyfriend suddenly decided yesterday that he wasn't interested," she added, as though that explained everything.

"Oh," Alex blinked confusedly.

"So I went out last night," Amy went on, "but I couldn't even get into any of the places with half-decent men in them. And then I remembered you. Ok, so you're into tennis instead of anything cool like rock music, but at least it keeps you fit. You're pretty ok looking. So how about it?" she asked casually.

"How about what?" Alex said guardedly.

"Duh." Amy rolled her eyes. "You and me. Let's go somewhere and do something. Do you drive?"

"Only with a licensed driver in the car."

"Great, so you know how. Where do you wanna go?"

"Nowhere," Alex told her hastily. "Um... AJ, right? I'm really flattered, AJ, but aren't you a little young for me?"

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Do I look a little young for you?" Amy purred suggestively.

"Well... no," Alex had to admit. "But you did yesterday. You'd do better to ask my brother," he went on politely. "He's fourteen, and we don't look all that different."

"Different enough," remarked Amy. "He still has a child's body."

"Yeah, so do you," returned Alex. "Um... AJ... maybe you'd better come in."

"Why?" Amy asked suspiciously.

"My mom just made pork sausages and onion rings," Alex blurted out. Well, what other reason would she accept?

"Oh." Amy's expression cleared. "All right then. I suppose if nothing else it'll be a good opportunity for me to show you how mature I really am."

Leaving Amy on a squashy armchair in the sitting room, Alex scuttled into the kitchen and hissed furtively, "Mom!"

"What?" Sarah mimicked her son's conspiratorial tone.

"I need some of your lunch."

"What the hell for?"

"There's a girl in the living room," Alex explained. "She's fourteen and she's just propositioned me and I know her so I think I need to try and get hold of her brother or somebody to come and take her home." He took a gulp of air before finishing, "And I need some pork sausages and onion rings to distract her."

"Oh." Sarah looked down at her rapidly disappearing food, shrugged and took a smaller plate from the cupboard, onto which she scraped half of what was left of her lunch. Well, she'd heard stranger things from all three of her children.

"I suppose you've tried tickling her," Oscar mused, frowning thoughtfully down at where Rose Rivera sat dispassionately on her mother's lap. "And making faces at her and all that kinda stuff."

"Yes," Conchita nodded forlornly. "She gives you this sort of... look."

"Like you're completely insane," Kylie added. "It's so weird. It's the exact same look Eduardo gets when you try telling him his brother isn't so bad."

"What used to make Jess laugh?" Oscar thought out loud. "She had a real thing about keys. She thought they were hilarious. Ooh!" As the phone started to ring, he crossed the room in a single bound, picked up the receiver and said breathlessly into it, "Yes?"

"Um... hi," a confused young voice ventured timidly. "Is this the Ghostbusters?"

"Yeah," Oscar replied, his heart sinking. "The team's out right now, but if you'll give me your details and tell me a bit about your ghost we'll send somebody over as soon as we can."

"We don't have a ghost," the voice replied. "We have a girl called Amy Jackson."

Oscar's heart jumped right back into his throat. "You do?"

"Yeah. My brother's downstairs distracting her with pork sausages and onion rings. I'm supposed to call you guys so somebody can come and pick her up. My brother reckons her family doesn't know where she is."

"Who are you?" Oscar asked confusedly.

"My name's Scott Kendall." He thought it best to mention the tenuous link between himself and the Ghostbusters. "The name Jo mean anything to you?"

"Jo? Kendall? Yes!" Oscar's expression cleared. "Are you related?"

"I'm her brother," answered Scott. As it happened, these two had already met: they'd collided in a doorway just briefly the day before. But neither of them could possibly know that now.

"Right – Scott – thanks, that's brilliant," Oscar babbled excitedly. "Listen: whatever happens, make sure AJ stays there. I'm going to try and get hold of her brother and some various other people. Where are you?"

Scott recited his address, not at all sure that he should be handing out this information to a stranger over the phone, but the situation had him so bewildered that he found he couldn't stop himself. And besides, it seemed like this was pretty important.

"Scott Kendall, I love you!" Oscar declared dramatically. "Keep her there, ok? Promise me! Promise me you'll keep her there!"

"All right, I promise," Scott returned, in baffled tones.

"Thanks. Bye!" Oscar hung up and then frantically tried to remember where he had put Tara's number.

"We can keep looking if you want," offered Jo.

Garrett shook his head. "You need a break. You must have better things to do. There's not even any reason for you to help us at all."

"Except that it would be really mean not to," Jo pointed out. "Oh." She blinked in surprise at the blue Mustang parking in her driveway. "What's going on here?"

Roland, Tara, Peter, Eduardo and Egon all piled out of the car and started heading for the Kendalls' front door. Egon caught sight of Garrett and Jo and beckoned them over, saying explanatorily, "We suspect that Roland's sister has been possessed by the ghost of a seventeen-year-old girl, and she has since come here."

"Why?" Garrett asked confusedly.

"She was possessed because she touched the stove that killed this girl," Egon replied. "We can't imagine why she came here. Oscar said the boy on the phone wasn't very clear."

"Is my family ok?" Jo asked anxiously.

"Probably," Egon deadpanned. "I see no reason for the ghost possessing Amy to want to harm them. Would you let us in please?"

Nodding mutely, Jo walked over to the front door and pushed it open. She was immediately leapt upon by McEnroe, who had sensed that something was not quite right in his home and wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

"Here." Jo thrust the excited mongrel towards Garrett. "Can you look after him please? Thanks babe," and she followed the procession of Ghostbusters (and Tara) into the house, leaving Garrett outside looking a little dumbfounded as to what to do with the dog.

"...I think this is definitely Andy Roddick's year," Alex was saying, his eyes focussed on Amy as he silently willed her not to leave. "Don't you think so, Scott?"

"I'd love if Roddick won again," replied Scott, who was leaning casually on the back of the sofa. "But I've just got this feeling that it'll be Federer."

"There you are!" Charging into the room ahead of her companions, Tara marched over to where Amy was sitting and gave her a slap round the face. "What do you think you're doing possessing my little sister, you crazy dead bitch? Get the hell outta there now!"

"Come on, boys." Rushing into the room, Jo grabbed Scott's arm and nudged Alex to encourage him off the sofa. "Apparently the kid's possessed. I don't think we can be of much help here, but McEnroe's doing his nut outside."

"What's going on now?" their mother asked warily, appearing in the doorway.

"She's possessed apparently," Scott explained simply. "Come on Mom; let's go."

As Sarah Kendall and her various offspring left the room, Amy jumped to her feet and looked around for an escape route, the expression on her heavily made-up face one of sheer fury. Guessing her intentions, Tara grabbed Amy by the shoulders and shook her. Hard.

"Get outta my sister!" she ordered angrily.

"Calm down, Tara." Roland placed a restraining hand on his sister's shoulder. "We don't even know for sure that she's in there."

"We do now," Peter remarked, shoving his humming PKE meter under Amy's nose. "How do we get her out?"

"Easy!" Garrett proclaimed as he charged into the room. "Get out your guns and suck the ghost right out of her!"

"It doesn't work like that, Garrett," argued Egon. "I think we should do our level best not to kill Amy."

"Stop hitting her, Tara," ordered Roland. "We can't slap the ghost out of her. Maybe we could try reasoning with her."

"Reasoning with her?" Tara echoed derisively, rolling her eyes. "That is such a feeble idea, you dork."

"Yeah," Garrett agreed. "That's your answer to everything and it never works."

"Oh yeah?" retorted Roland. "What about Psiren? This is only a teenage girl possessing my sister. Maybe she's got... you know... unfinished business."

"She's not Casper, Roland," Eduardo snorted derisively.

"Worth a try," Egon jumped in. He holstered his proton gun and turned to face Amy. "Um... Leonora?"

"Leo," the girl returned.

"Leo," Egon corrected himself. "Can you tell me why you have taken this girl's body?"

"Because I could," shrugged Leo. "There was a lot I wanted to do before I died. I was only seventeen. I never used to let that stop me, mind you, even though my dad never let me do anything. Fire escapes are a wonderful invention. Can you let go of me?" she added tersely, swivelling her head to face Tara.

"Get the hell outta my sister!" Tara shouted again. "Maybe you didn't like how your dad treated you, but that's no reason to turn my sister into a juvenile delinquent!"

"How can we persuade you to leave?" Roland asked reasonably. "Maybe there's something you want to do...?"

"Do?" Leo repeated thoughtfully. "I just wanted to get out of that goddamn stove. My spirit's been trapped there for the last ten years. There must be better places to spend eternity."

"Not in my sister!" Tara was adamant.

"Lay off!" snapped Leo. Then her eyes fell on Egon and Peter as she went on, "I remember you. Ghostbusters, right? Well, you're the experts. Tell me how to get out of this kid without going back to the stove and I'll do it."

"You were trapped there?" Egon asked thoughtfully. "I wonder why you couldn't cross over to the spirit world. Do you have any unfinished business you want to take care of?"

"Apart from clubbing every night," Peter added helpfully. "What about your parents? Anything you want to say to them?"

"I've been feeling terrible about the way I treated my father," Leo confessed. "I always did the exact opposite of what he told me. Yelled at him; called him some terrible names... And then there's my mom and brother. I didn't speak to them once after Mom and Dad's divorce when they moved away."

"Ok," Tara cut in, her voice calming as she regarded her sister's heavily painted face with a softer expression. "I have an idea."

"You do?" Roland asked, surprised.

"Sure. You want to make it up with your family?" She looked steadily at Leo. "I know how you can do it with no fuss; they won't even have to know you came back from the dead. First thing we need to do is go back to my place."

"Here." Sitting at Tara's kitchen table, Leo Evans ripped the sheet of paper from the notepad and handed it over her shoulder to Tara. "Is that ok?"

"'Dear Mom and Gus'," Tara read aloud. "'I can't tell you how much I'm missing you. I really want to see you again. I need you to help me figure out what to do about Dad. I've been such a bitch to him lately. I hate myself for it but I don't know how to talk to him. Please come and visit, or let me come to see you. I love you both and I'm sorry. Leo.' Well, is that everything you want to say?" she asked.

Leo nodded.

"Well," Tara went on, "it'll have them all bawling their eyes out, but if it'll get you out of my sister I suppose we'll have to make that sacrifice. You haven't dated it." She set the small sheet of paper down in front of Leo. "Date it the day you died. Then shove it in the envelope, and I'll forward it to your mom and brother claiming that I only just found it under... I don't know – a loose floorboard or something."

"Thanks," Leo smiled gratefully. She dated the letter, slipped it into the envelope and then passed it back to Tara. "I guess that's it, then. Sorry I possessed your sister."

"Don't apologise, kid. Just get outta there." Tara swept past her possessed sister and went to the doorway that divided the kitchen and the sitting room. "You, you and you" – she pointed to Peter, Egon and Eduardo – "can leave if you want to. We're cool here. Roland: we need to talk to our sister."

Roland followed Tara through to the kitchen, where they saw Amy still sitting at the table and looking completely dazed.

"AJ?" Roland asked tentatively.

"Whoa." Amy stared at her two oldest siblings with a hollow expression. "That was so weird."

"Do you remember all of that?" Tara asked interestedly.

"Sure I do. God, how embarrassing!" groaned Amy. "I propositioned Oscar! And that Alex Kendall! And I went all over town trying to buy alcohol! This is terrible!" Her brown eyes widened as she asked desperately, "What am I going to tell Dad?"

"It's ok," Roland said soothingly, going to sit next to Amy and putting his arm around her. "I'll help explain things to Dad. This wasn't your fault."

"And if this doesn't persuade him to let you do your own thing occasionally nothing will," Tara added vehemently. "Want anything, hon? I imagine that being possessed really takes it out of you."

"Can you please get me something to take this muck off my face?" Amy requested. "And some decent clothes. Jeans and a sweater or something. I'm not going outside looking like this."

"I think you look good," Tara opined.

"Yeah?" Amy returned dryly. "Well I don't feel good. Go on: do it."

Tara looked slightly disappointed, but Roland couldn't help but smile his relief as she went off to retrieve her makeup removal kit – or whatever it was these women used.

Oscar was a little wary of answering the front door ever since he had opened it to a particularly aggressive fist two days ago. But since he was the only one in the house on Wednesday afternoon, he didn't have much choice. Thankfully he didn't get punched in the face this time. Standing on the doorstep was Amy Jackson, looking reassuringly like her normal self in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, her hair straightened out and pulled back into a ponytail... and her chest pretty much flat once again.

"Hi Oscar," she greeted him smilingly.

"Hi. Um... hi Roland." Oscar's eyes fell guardedly on Amy's chaperone. Well, it could have been worse. Their father could have sent Casey.

"Ok if I use the bathroom?" Roland asked tactfully.

With her brother safely exiled upstairs, Amy sat down on the sofa and accepted a can of cola from Oscar. Smiling slightly at his expectant expression as he sat down next to her, she told him, "I talked to my dad again."

"And?" Oscar asked eagerly.

"Well, do you still want to go out with me?"

"Of course I do."

"Despite me turning into a total bitch for twenty-four hours or so?"

"That wasn't your fault," Oscar pointed out.

"Right," Amy nodded slowly. "How many Jacksons have had paranormal experiences now? Me, Roland, Tara and Casey. Four down, three to go. So anyway, Dad says we can go out."

"Are you sure?" If this was true, Oscar couldn't believe his luck. There had to be a catch.

"Yes, but don't get too excited," cautioned Amy. "There are a lot of conditions. First one is I have to be home by ten."

"Fair enough," Oscar agreed.

"And we have to go to the McDonalds two blocks from my house, and it has to be Friday night. Casey has a friend who's working a shift there so he can keep an eye on us. It sounds terrible I know, but it was either that or one of my brothers coming with us."

"Should be ok," shrugged Oscar. "Anything else?"

"Just one more thing," Amy smiled ironically. "No touching."

"What, not even hand-holding?" Oscar asked, surprised.

"Better not risk it," Amy decided.

"Would anybody find out if we did?"

"Almost certainly. They'll probably bug my clothes or plant spies all over the city or something. But you gotta admit it's something."

"It shows they care, I suppose," Oscar said reasonably. "So we get one date on Friday night. What happens next?"

"Provided we stick to the rules, I talk to my dad again," Amy explained. "And I try to persuade him to let me see you again. It's going to be like some sort of police interview," she smiled dryly. "He wants one brother present to back him up. I'm kinda hoping that he'll pick Joey, but it'll most likely be Casey, or possibly Ryan. But I should be ok. I get Tara."

"You'll be fine then," Oscar surmised.

"Right," Amy agreed. "Just a tape-recording would do. She's only going to say one thing."

"What's that?"

" 'Remember what happened when you said that to me.'"

Oscar laughed and said, "I think they've learnt their lesson. Or at least I hope they have. I know you're two years younger than me, AJ, but I was kinda hoping we could stretch a little further than a weekly trip to McDonald's."

Amy took a moment just to look at him. Tara was right: she'd have to be stupid not to go out with this guy. He was fun, talented and extraordinarily good-looking. She at least had to give it a shot.

"Well, we'll see," Amy shrugged. "Dad's coming round. That's enough for now. So I suppose I'd better tell Roland it's safe to come out of the bathroom. Unless you want to say something you don't want him to hear," she added invitingly.

"Well..." Oscar considered. "I think you have a really cute smile."

"Aw, thanks!" Amy was incredibly pleased by the compliment. "I think you have a really cute ass."

"Um... thanks," Oscar smiled awkwardly.

"You're welcome. Anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Right." Amy got up from the sofa and made her way over to the bottom of the stairs. "ROLAND! We're done here! You can take me home now!"

Jo closed her eyes against her youngest brother's disastrous attempt at a second serve ace. You should never attempt a second serve ace, she thought irately, and especially if you're not that good at tennis. Alex and Scott were ok at tennis, but they weren't that good. Fortunately their opponents weren't that good either, so the Kendall brothers were holding their own in the match.

"Don't we have anything better to do than watch your little brothers play tennis?" Garrett asked irritably.

"Hold on," Jo answered distractedly. "I just want to see if they pick themselves up. Honestly, they're playing ladies' tennis!"

"How d'you mean?"

"Boring and not very good quality."

"That is so sexist!" Garrett looked positively shocked. "What if I said that?"

"It's ok for me to say it. I'm a woman," reasoned Jo. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Hit it to the baseline, Alex!" She looked down at Garrett and said, shaking her head despairingly, "They don't play to win, those boys. You'd think the only point of playing competitive sports was to have fun."

"Forget 'em," shrugged Garrett. "You can stay if you want to, but I'm leaving. I don't even really like tennis that much."

"Why not?"

"Too slow."

"Fair enough." Jo grabbed the handles on the back of Garrett's chair and spun him round. "I can't stand to watch them dancing around the court like a couple of girls. Let's get outta here."

"And go where?" asked Garrett.

"Can we go back to your place and watch the pro surfing championships?"

"Sure."

"Great," Jo approved, giving Garrett a small shove and then letting him take control of the chair. "I hope you've got something good in the fridge. I really feel like a sandwich."

"Really? You don't look like one," japed Garrett. "Um... Jo... listen: I'm really sorry about the whole thing with Amy Jackson."

"Could have been worse," shrugged Jo. "But I thought you said things like that wouldn't happen all the time."

"They won't," Garrett defended himself. "Just sometimes. And the ghosts won't usually hide out at your place."

"They'd better not."

"I'm sure they won't."

"Good. Because otherwise I might have to chuck you."

"Aw, don't do that!" Garrett protested. "Tell you what: when we get home I'll make you the most fantastic sandwich. You'll never want to leave."

"All right," Jo agreed. "You know, you're pretty ok as far as boyfriends go. Can I stay over again?"

"If you call your mom."

Jo rolled her eyes. "Do I look like Amy Jackson?"

"I said if you call your mom, not if you age ten years and marry me," retorted Garrett. "Find what you want to watch on TV and then call her while I'm making your sandwich, ok?"

"Ok," Jo relented. "But this sandwich better be something really special."

"Don't worry, it will."

"Good."

"Ok then. Hey," Garrett added, as they rounded a corner and Jo's eyes locked hungrily onto a shop offering three for two on Coca-Cola. "You're pretty ok yourself, you know."

THE END

Disclaimer: John and Eden Spengler are used here by kind permission of their creator Dr. Fritz V. Baugh.

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